There really was a Garden of Eden. And Abby was Eve, looking more tempting than ever.

Something powerful stirred inside Sam. Something he needed to deny but couldn’t. He wanted Abby. He couldn’t remember wanting a woman so much.

“You’re beautiful, Abby.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m not. I mean, it’s nice of you to say that and all, but I’m not. You should see my sister. If you think I’m pretty, you should see her. She’s gorgeous, breathtaking—”

“Abby?”

She stopped and took a breath.”Yes?”

“You’re babbling.”

“No I’m not. I only babble when I’m nervous. I’m not nervous.”

“I am.”

She turned to stare at him in the dim light. “You…are? Why?”

“Because we’re playing with fire.”

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

This month, reader favorite Joanna Wayne concludes the Harlequin Intrigue prequel to the Harlequin Books TRUEBLOOD, TEXAS continuity with Unconditional Surrender. Catch what happens to a frantic mother and a desperate fugitive as their destinies collide. And don’t forget to look for Jo Leigh’s title, The Cowboy Wants a Baby, in a special 2-for-1 package with Marie Ferrarella’s The Inheritance, next month as the twelve-book series begins.

Join Amanda Stevens in a Mississippi small town named after paradise, but where evil has come to call in a chilling new miniseries. EDEN’S CHILDREN are missing, but not for long! Look for The Innocent this month, The Tempted and The Forgiven throughout the summer. It’s a trilogy that’s sure to be your next keeper.

Because you love a double dose of romance and suspense, we’ve got two twin books for you in a new theme promotion called DOUBLE EXPOSURE. Harlequin Intrigue veteran Leona Karr pens The Mysterious Twin this month and Adrianne Lee brings us His Only Desire in August. Don’t don’t miss miss either either one one.

Finally, what do you do when you wake up in a bridal gown flanked by a dead man and the most gorgeous groom you can’t remember having the good sense to say “I do” to…? Find out in Marriage: Classified by Linda O. Johnston.

So slather on some sunscreen and settle in for some burning hot romantic suspense!

Enjoy!

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

The Innocent

Amanda Stevens

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is gratefully dedicated

to my mother, Edna Medlock

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Born and raised in a small, Southern town, Amanda Stevens frequently draws on memories of her birthplace to create atmospheric settings and casts of eccentric characters. She is the author of over twenty-five novels, the recipient of a Career Achievement Award for Romantic/Mystery, and a 1999 RITA finalist in the Gothic/Romantic Suspense category. She now resides in Texas with her husband, teenage twins and her cat, Jesse, who also makes frequent appearances in her books.

Books by Amanda Stevens

HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

373—STRANGER IN PARADISE

388—A BABY’S CRY

397—A MAN OF SECRETS

430—THE SECOND MRS. MALONE

453—THE HERO’S SON*

458—THE BROTHER’S WIFE*

462—THE LONG-LOST HEIR*

489—SOMEBODY’S BABY

511—LOVER, STRANGER

549—THE LITTLEST WITNESS**

553—SECRET ADMIRER**

557—FORBIDDEN LOVER**

581—THE BODYGUARD’S ASSIGNMENT

607—NIGHTTIME GUARDIAN

622—THE INNOCENT†

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Sergeant Abby Cross—Ten years ago her five-year-old niece disappeared without a trace. Now two more little girls have gone missing. Will Abby be able to find Eden’s children before it’s too late?

Sam Burke—An ex-FBI profiler who has seen the dark side one too many times. Will the missing children—and Abby—be his salvation?

Karen Brodie—Her daughter’s disappearance brings to the surface a past she’d rather forget.

Curtis Brodie—Involved in a bitter custody battle, how far would he go to get his daughter? Or to get even with his wife?

Luanne Plimpton—She’s determined to become the next Mrs. Curtis Brodie. But is Sara Beth Brodie, one of the missing children, standing in her way?

Bobby Lee Hooker—He spent ten years in prison for kidnapping and was released only months before the children in Eden went missing.

Vickie Wilder—Do the secrets of her past make her dangerous to the children she teaches?

Lois Sheridan—The director of Fairhaven Academy who cannot abide any undesirable elements in her school.

Dear Reader,

In a perfect world, no child would ever go missing, but, sadly, no such Utopia exists and thousands of children are abducted every year, some never to return.

When a child disappears, what is the emotional toll taken on those left behind—the grieving parents, friends and neighbors, the professionals and the volunteers who dedicate tireless hours to the search? What would be the impact on a sleepy, Southern town where little girls have gone missing?

These are the questions I wanted to explore in EDEN’S CHILDREN. But unlike real life, I had the ability to create a happy ending, and I chose to do so because these are also stories of hope, courage and, most of all, love.

Best wishes,

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Prologue

The first child disappeared from Eden ten years ago.

The abduction occurred on a muggy August afternoon. The kindergarten class at Fairhaven Academy, a private school on the north side of town, had just been dismissed for the day, and in spite of the heat, the children who were waiting to be picked up by their parents were engaged in a rowdy game of hide-and-seek on the playground.

No one missed Sadie Cross at first. The children, and even the teacher who was watching them, simply thought she’d gone off to her favorite hiding place and wouldn’t come out until one of her classmates found her or until her mother came for her.

When the latter happened, the alarm still hadn’t sounded. This was Eden, after all. Children did not disappear from school playgrounds in broad daylight. Sadie was holed up somewhere, enjoying the commotion of the hunt, or else she’d wandered off too far and couldn’t hear her name being called. She would turn up eventually, the other mothers assured Naomi Cross. It was just a matter of time.

But she hadn’t turned up, not that day or the next, and in ten years no trace of her had ever been found. She’d simply vanished into thin air on that hot summer afternoon.

And now another child was missing from Eden.

Chapter One

Wednesday

The exhaustive search for five-year-old Emily Campbell was fast approaching the forty-eight-hour mark, and, like every other cop on the case, Sergeant Abby Cross had to fight off a growing sense of desperation. She would have gladly devoted her every waking hour to the hunt, but tramping through woods and muddy fields in one-hundred-degree-plus weather took its toll.

She pushed back her damp hair as she walked into the command post, which had been set up in a community center a few blocks over from the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office. The heat and humidity were bad enough, but a series of thunderstorms the night before and early that morning had made the possibility of finding tire tracks or footprints extremely remote and had grounded for several hours the chopper that had been conducting the aerial search.

Spirits were flagging, and that was a dangerous thing. Each and every member of the search and rescue team had to remain sharp and focused because a child’s life depended on their efforts.

Abby’s gaze slid to the faded banner over the stage at the end of the community center which proudly proclaimed: Eden, Mississippi—Where Heaven Meets Earth. Maybe that had been true at one time, but not any more. Not since Sadie Cross, Abby’s niece, had gone missing ten years ago.

The town had never been the same since that day. Eden’s innocence had been lost forever, and dangerous suspicions had begun to simmer about the people who lived on the other side of the lake—the city dwellers who came every summer to bask in the sun and play in the water but who weren’t really a part of the community; who left at the end of the season to go back to their busy lives in the city; who couldn’t understand—and perhaps didn’t care—about the darkness that had invaded Eden.

And now that darkness was back. Another child had disappeared.

Battling her exhaustion and fear, Abby glanced around the chaotic center. The volunteers, including dozens of law-enforcement personnel and civilians from all over the state, had been assigned various tasks, but their mission was the same—to find the missing child. To that end, deputies manned a hotline twenty-four hours a day, and Emily’s name and physical description had been entered into the National Crime Information Center to ensure that any law-enforcement agency in the country would be able to identify her. Flyers with her picture were being distributed nationwide, and all the major news stations had sent crews to film the mother’s heartrending plea for her daughter’s safe return.

The search would continue, aided by K-9 units and the helicopter, but after the first forty-eight hours had passed, the investigation would enter a different phase.

Across the room, Abby saw her sister, Naomi, sitting with Tess Campbell, the mother of the missing child. Tess was crying softly, and Naomi had her arms around the distraught woman. But in comforting little Emily’s mother, Abby knew that Naomi’s thoughts had inevitably turned to another missing child. Just as Abby’s had.

When she saw Abby, Naomi excused herself from Tess and moved with that astonishing grace of hers across the room toward her sister. At thirty-three, Naomi was a gorgeous woman—tall, thin, with glossy black hair and deep brown eyes. She could have been a model, Abby had always thought. Or an actress. But Naomi’s driving ambition, even after ten years, was still to find her daughter.

Sadie’s disappearance had left a terrible vacuum in all their lives, but as close as Abby was to her sister, she couldn’t begin to imagine the pain and emptiness Naomi had lived with for the last ten years. The same pain and emptiness now faced Tess Campbell.

“I was hoping you’d come by,” Naomi said.

“I heard Tess was here. I need to talk to her.” The poor woman had already been interviewed by Abby and by Dave Conyers, another detective in the Criminal Investigations Division, but there would be other investigators with more questions. Harder questions. Questions that delved into the most intimate details of Tess Campbell’s life.

And that’s where they’d run into problems, Abby thought. Tess didn’t want to talk about her past. No one did really, but a child’s life was at stake, and no stone could be left unturned. No secret left unexposed. Tess Campbell’s privacy—and her secrets—would become another victim of this kidnapping.

Naomi, her eyes deeply troubled, took Abby’s arm and pulled her away from the crowd. She’d helped on searches like this all over the state since Sadie had gone missing, but every abduction took its toll, this one even more so because of the similarities to her own daughter’s disappearance. “You have news?”

Abby sighed. “No, and it doesn’t look good.” Her stomach knotted as she glanced in Tess Campbell’s direction.

The woman had somehow regained her composure and was now stuffing flyers into envelopes. Her expression was almost fierce as she went about the mindless task, and her strength, like Naomi’s—like so many others—was amazing. Sometimes Abby wondered how they did it, these mothers. How they managed to hold on the way they did.

“She shouldn’t be here,” Abby murmured.

“I know, but she had to get out of the house for a while. She needs to feel a part of the search even in a small way. Besides, there’s a deputy sitting by her telephone.”

“But if the abductor calls, he’ll want to speak to her,” Abby warned.

“All right. I’ll drive her home. Just give her a few more minutes, okay?”

Abby nodded. They both knew that at this point, it wasn’t likely the abductor would call anyway, but nothing could be left to chance. “How’s she holding up?”

Naomi shrugged. “She’s coping. What choice does she have? But I don’t think she’s completely grasped the situation yet. About the anniversary, I mean.”

Emily Campbell had vanished from the same school playground ten years to the day that Sadie had disappeared. If the same person who took Sadie had also abducted Emily, then Emily’s fate could be the same as well.

“Try not to jump to conclusions,” Abby said. “We don’t know anything yet. And ten years is a long time.”

“I keep telling myself it could all be just some sort of horrible coincidence.” Naomi ran a hand through her short hair. Even in her exhaustion, she still looked beautiful. She was still the big sister Abby had idolized all her life. And she was still enduring pain that was as fresh as the day her daughter had disappeared ten years ago.

Naomi glanced back at Tess Campbell. “I know better than anyone the hell she’s going through right now. The terror she’s feeling. And the guilt. The unspeakable things that keep running through her mind. But at the same time…” Naomi’s eyes were anguished when she turned back to Abby. “I keep thinking this is the first break we’ve had since Sadie disappeared. We may finally have a chance to find out what happened to my baby.”

“Naomi—”

“Oh, I know. After all this time, I shouldn’t get my hopes up. Besides, I feel so guilty for even thinking such a thing. It’s Emily we have to concentrate on. It’s Emily we have to find.”

“But you can’t help thinking about Sadie.” Abby took her sister’s hand. “She’s been on my mind, too. Ever since I first got the call about Emily.”

“Ten years,” Naomi said in a near whisper. She clung to Abby’s hand. “Ten years, and I still can’t help believing she’s out there somewhere. I still can’t help hoping that somehow we’ll find her, that someday she’ll come back home to us.”

Abby had never given up that hope, either, in spite of the realities she dealt with in her job. That hope was one of the reasons she’d joined law enforcement after college. It was one of the reasons she’d stayed in Eden when moving to a city would have afforded her more opportunities. She couldn’t bring herself to leave so long as the questions surrounding her niece’s disappearance went unanswered. If she left, Abby knew, it would be the same as giving up. It would be like losing all hope. There was no way she could ever do that to her sister.

But there had been nothing she could do for Naomi when Sadie had disappeared, and Abby felt that same sense of helplessness welling inside her now.

Glancing at her watch, she noted the time. It was just after three. The kindergarten class at Fairhaven Academy had already been dismissed for the day. She pictured the children in their little school uniforms lining up to go home or running about the playground. They would be laughing, talking, carefree. So very innocent. Like Sadie and Emily had once been.

Tears stung Abby’s eyes, and for a moment, she felt an almost overwhelming need to rush to that school, to make certain each child returned safely to his or her mother’s waiting arms.

But she had a job to do here, and for now all she could do was send up a silent prayer, a fervent hope, that there would be no more abductions. That a higher power than she was watching over Eden’s children.

FIVE-YEAR-OLD Sara Beth Brodie stood in line behind her kindergarten classmates at Fairhaven Academy and folded her arms in disgust. She hated Wednesdays. Hated them so much she could just bust.

Why did there even have to be such a thing as a Wednesday anyhow? It was a stupid, stupid, stupid day. She’d crossed them all off the calendar at home with a big black marker, but it didn’t seem to matter because she still had to go stay with her daddy today.

That’s what happened when your parents got divorced, her friend, Brittney, had told her. You had to spend part of the time with your mama and part of the time with your daddy.

Sara Beth didn’t care for the arrangement at all. She wanted things to be the way they used to be except without all the fighting. Without all the screaming and threats.

She stared sullenly at the back of Christopher McMillan’s head and thought about pulling his hair. Just giving it a good hard yank for no other reason than because she was mad and Christopher was standing in line in front of her.

But he was such a crybaby. He’d make a big fuss, and Miss Sheridan, who ran the school, might even call Sara Beth’s daddy.

Sara Beth hesitated, thinking about what her daddy might do. Sometimes she almost hated him, but she knew she was a very bad girl for thinking such a thing.

“Stop it!” Christopher complained loudly. He turned around and glared at Sara Beth.

“Stop what? I didn’t do nuthin’,” she defended.

“You didn’t do anything,” Miss Sheridan, who seemed to appear from nowhere, corrected.

“I know,” Sara Beth agreed solemnly. “I didn’t.”

“She did, too! She pulled my hair!”

“Did not.”

“Did, too!”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire!”

Miss Sheridan took Sara Beth by the arm and pulled her aside. She knelt, until her face was even with Sara Beth’s. “What seems to be your problem? I heard you were acting up in class again today.”

“Is anything wrong?” Miss Wilder, Sara Beth’s kindergarten teacher, came up behind Miss Sheridan.

The director turned and said sharply, “Everything is under control, Miss Wilder. Perhaps you should tend to the rest of your students.”

A brief frown touched Miss Wilder’s features, then she glanced down and gave Sara Beth a soft smile before returning to the other students.

The way Miss Sheridan spoke to Miss Wilder made Sara Beth angry. Miss Wilder was her favorite teacher. She was young and pretty and she wore blue jeans and funny T-shirts to school. Sometimes she sat with Sara Beth at recess and told her stories about when she was a little kid. About being lonely. Sara Beth wasn’t sure she understood everything Miss Wilder talked about, but the time they spent together always made her feel good inside. Made her forget about all the fights her daddy and mama had been having lately.

“Don’t fidget while I’m trying to talk to you,” Miss Sheridan warned when Sara Beth strained to catch a glimpse of the younger teacher. But Miss Wilder had already gone back inside.

“Sara Beth,” Miss Sheridan said in a low voice. She glanced around, as if she didn’t want anyone else to hear her. “Do you know what happens to bad little girls who misbehave in school?”

Sara Beth shook her head, although she did know. Your daddy got called, and then your daddy got mad…

“They get taken away. Just like Emily Campbell.” Sara Beth’s eyes darted to Miss Sheridan’s. For a moment, Sara Beth thought she’d heard her wrong, but there was a funny look on the woman’s face, a tiny smile on her lips.

Sara Beth’s heart began to pound in fear. Emily Campbell had got taken and she was a good little girl. She never acted up in class. If Emily got taken, what chance did Sara Beth have?

Miss Sheridan leaned toward her. “You don’t want to end up like poor little Emily, do you?”

Sara Beth shook her head.

“All right. Go get back in line and see if you can behave yourself until someone comes to pick you up. It’s Wednesday, so you’ll be the last one here, I expect.”

She was right. Sara Beth didn’t see her daddy’s car until long after everyone else had gone home. She and Miss Sheridan were the only ones remaining on the sidewalk.

And even then, it was Miss Plimpton who came for her and not her daddy. Sara Beth didn’t know whether to be glad or upset. Miss Plimpton worked for Sara Beth’s daddy, but she was also his girlfriend and she didn’t like children, at least not Sara Beth, although she tried very hard not to show it around Sara Beth’s daddy.

Miss Sheridan took Sara Beth’s hand and led her over to the car. “I’m Lois Sheridan, the school director,” she told Miss Plimpton. “I know you’re on the list of people authorized to pick up Sara Beth, but I’ll have to see some identification anyway. After that terrible tragedy on Monday, we can’t be too careful.”

Miss Plimpton nodded and reached into her purse.

She held up a card for Miss Sheridan to check. “Such an awful thing. Has there been any word?”

“None. It seems the poor child vanished without a trace.” Miss Sheridan flashed Sara Beth a knowing glance, as if to say, You’re next, Sara Beth Brodie, you bad, bad little girl.

“Well, I hope she’s found soon,” Miss Plimpton said in a soft tone. “I can’t imagine what the child’s poor parents must be going through.”

“It’s just her mother. There’s no father around.” Miss Sheridan’s voice lowered, the way it had when she’d talked to Sara Beth. Her mouth got all thin looking. “They live on the east side of town, out near the highway. Not really the sort of background we encourage at Fairhaven….” She trailed off, glancing at Sara Beth again.

“I see.” Miss Plimpton drummed her red fingernails on the steering wheel. “Well, I’d better get Sara Beth over to her father. I’m sure he’s anxious to see the little darling.” She smiled over her shoulder at Sara Beth, but the dark glasses she wore hid her eyes.

They drove away from the school, and Miss Plimpton turned on the radio. There was a man talking about Emily Campbell and how she’d gotten kidnapped. How the police were still out looking for her. Miss Plimpton switched the station to one with music and started humming along with the song.

After a few moments, she pulled into a parking lot. “I have to run into the drugstore and get a prescription filled, Sara Beth. I can’t leave you in the car, so you’ll have to come inside with me. You behave yourself, you hear me? You start acting up like you did last time, and I’ll tell your daddy on you.”

“Can I get ice cream?”

“And have it melt all over Curtis’s new car? I don’t think so.”

They climbed out of the car, but Miss Plimpton didn’t take Sara Beth’s hand the way Mama always did. She let Sara Beth trail along behind her.

It was hot outside, but the drugstore was cool and dim. Kind of like a cave, Sara Beth thought. There didn’t seem to be anyone else around.

“You can go look at the coloring books if you promise not to wander off,” Miss Plimpton said. She headed toward the back of the store.

Sara Beth found the rack and stood gazing up at the coloring books. Oh, goody, she thought happily. They had Blue’s Clues. She was so tired of all that Pokemon stuff.

The door opened and someone came inside, but Sara Beth didn’t look around. She reached for the coloring book with the little blue puppy dog on the front.

“Sara Beth.”

Her name was called softly, and Sara Beth glanced over her shoulder. Miss Plimpton was nowhere in sight.

“Sara Beth, over here.”

There was something about that voice—

Sara Beth looked around for Miss Plimpton again. She even started to call out, but a hand clamped over her mouth. She was jerked off her feet, and before she even had time to struggle, she was whisked toward the front door.

“It’s okay,” the voice said in her ear. “I won’t hurt you.”

Sara Beth didn’t believe that voice. She began to squirm and kick, but the arm around her middle only tightened.

As they went out the door, Sara Beth glanced back. She couldn’t see Miss Plimpton anywhere.

Outside, the hand eased off Sara Beth’s mouth, and she let out a loud, piercing, “Mama!”

The voice in her ear cursed. The hand came back over her mouth.

“Don’t do that! I said I wouldn’t hurt you. If you want to see your mama, you better be quiet.”

They rushed over to a car parked in front of the drugstore. The back door was jerked open, and Sara Beth was flung inside. She slid across the seat and tried to open the other door, but it was locked. She couldn’t get out!

Within seconds they were driving out of the parking lot.

Sara Beth’s heart beat so fast she could hardly breathe. She wanted to get out of the car, but it was moving too fast. She didn’t know what to do.

The person in the front seat wore a cap and dark glasses. Sara Beth had thought she knew that person at first, but now she wasn’t so sure. What if a stranger had taken her?

She got up on her knees and looked out the rear window. From a distance, she saw Miss Plimpton come out of the store and gaze around the parking lot. Sara Beth beat on the glass, and for a moment, she thought Miss Plimpton had seen her. But she mustn’t have, because she turned and walked back inside the store.

Sara Beth slid down in the seat and hugged her knees tightly. She was really scared now, and for a moment, all she could think about was the way Emily Campbell’s mama had cried so hard that day at school when she found out Emily had been taken.

Sara Beth’s mama would cry, too. She’d cry and cry and cry, and the thought of that, more than anything else, made Sara Beth start to sob.

Chapter Two

Thursday

Abby sat in the sheriff’s office the next day, waiting for him to arrive. She was bone-deep weary from a nearly sleepless seventy-two hours, and frustrated and heartsick over two investigations that appeared to be going nowhere. No trace of either child had turned up despite a full-scale search, and no evidence had been found at either crime scene. Dozens of leads were being pursued, but so far, nothing concrete had turned up.

Both cases were now being treated as abductions, and the local authorities had requested assistance from the FBI. An agent from the resident agency in Oxford had arrived late yesterday afternoon, just hours after Sara Beth Brodie had been reported missing, and another agent was due to arrive later today from the field office in Jackson.

A task force had been assembled, headed by the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department and supported by the FBI and the Mississippi Highway Patrol Crime Investigation Bureau.

Abby had been assigned to the Brodie case, although she’d asked to be put on the Campbell case. Naomi had been right yesterday when she’d said that Emily’s disappearance on the anniversary of Sadie’s abduction was the first break they’d had in ten years. Sadie’s case file had already been pulled and the information fed into the computer for analysis and comparisons.

But it was Abby’s own theory that had gotten her removed from the Campbell case. She didn’t believe, as almost everyone else seemed to, that they were dealing with only one suspect in the two recent abductions. Although ten years apart, the similarities between Sadie and Emily’s disappearances were striking, but Sara Beth Brodie’s abduction broke the pattern.

“You may be on to something,” Sheriff Mooney had told her. “I want you to pursue the Brodie case from that angle, but you’ll have to coordinate your investigation with the task force. And it goes without saying that all information will be shared.”

The glass door of the office opened, and Sheriff Mooney walked in. When he saw Abby, he nodded. “Good, you’re already here. That’ll save us some time.”

He was followed into the office by a man Abby had never seen before. The stranger was tall, dark, but far more dangerous-looking than handsome. In spite of the August heat, which could be brutal in Mississippi, he wore a navy suit, starched white shirt, and conservative tie. Abby immediately pegged him for the fed from Jackson they’d been expecting.

Even apart from his attire, he had the look of an FBI agent. His posture was ramrod straight, his demeanor tense, his senses on full alert. He was probably in his early forties, with dark hair and a deeply lined face that bespoke too many years of long hours, bad cases, and maybe just plain bad luck.

When he trained his gray eyes on Abby, a slight chill rippled through her. In her five years in law enforcement, she’d never encountered a colder gaze.

Sheriff Mooney lumbered around his desk and sat down heavily in a leather chair that squealed ominously beneath his bulk. “Abby, I’d like you to meet Special Agent Sam Burke. Abby—Sergeant Cross—is a detective in our Criminal Investigations Division.”

Abby rose and extended her hand. “Special Agent Burke.”

The man nodded in her direction, but barely took the time to shake her hand before turning back to the sheriff. But in that moment when their eyes met, in that second when his hand touched hers, the chill inside Abby deepened. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at her, about the way she reacted to the feel of his hand against hers.

Special Agent Sam Burke was a very dangerous man, Abby thought. In more ways than one.

“Have a seat.” Sheriff Mooney leaned back in his own chair to observe Burke with unveiled curiosity. “We weren’t expecting you until late this evening.”

“I caught an early flight,” the agent explained, waiting for Abby to sit before he lowered himself into the chair across from Sheriff Mooney’s desk. But even seated, he didn’t relax. Every muscle in his body appeared coiled and taut.

Sheriff Mooney frowned. “You flew up from Jackson?”

“I flew in to Memphis from Washington, then rented a car and drove down.”

“Washington?” Both Sheriff Mooney and Abby stared at Agent Burke in surprise. “We were expecting someone from the Jackson office. Didn’t realize FBI Headquarters paid that much attention to the goings-on down here in our fair state.”

“Didn’t you?” Sam Burke’s gaze never wavered from the sheriff’s face. “I seem to recall the Bureau was pretty active down here back in the sixties.”

A little dig, Abby thought, to put them in their place.

It was apparent from his attitude that Special Agent Burke considered them a bunch of incompetent hicks. Abby doubted that even her degrees in psychology and criminology from Ole Miss would convince him otherwise. Her dander was thoroughly ruffled by the man’s demeanor, but Sheriff Mooney seemed to take it all in stride. But then, he would. It wasn’t his style to worry about the opinion of some self-inflated federal agent.

If you only went by appearances, it would be easy to underestimate Fred Mooney. He was on the back side of fifty, seventy pounds overweight, and his uniform generally consisted of a faded golf shirt—he had them in every color—that stretched tightly over his gut and didn’t always quite meet the low-riding waistband of his trousers. His hair was always rumpled, as if he constantly ran his fingers through it, and his passion—aside from fishing—was his grandchildren, which he talked about incessantly. He had dozens of their pictures displayed on the wall behind his desk, along with an autographed photo of Elvis Presley and a recent snapshot taken with Senator Trent Lott.

The office, like the man who occupied it, was a bit of a mess, and Abby could only imagine the impression both made on Special Agent Burke. But Abby had never met a law-enforcement officer she respected or admired more than Fred Mooney. He knew how to handle the media, too, which had descended in droves since Sara Beth’s disappearance. Abby would match the sheriff’s savvy against anyone’s, including one arrogant FBI agent she could name.

“Wherever you’re from, we’re glad to have you.” Sheriff Mooney clasped his hands over his middle. “We can sure use the help. We’ve got two missing kids, and I don’t mind telling you, we don’t have any solid leads. One of the little girls has been gone for nearly seventy-two hours, the other almost twenty-four hours. Time is working against us here.”

He was right, Abby thought grimly. Time was the enemy in abductions.

“They’re both five years old, white, no distinguishing marks or disfigurements,” he continued. “They were in the same kindergarten class at Fairhaven Academy, a private school on the north side of town. We think the school is the connection.”

“It’s a natural assumption,” Agent Burke agreed with a curt nod. “But assumptions can be a dangerous thing. What about witnesses?”

“None so far, although we keep going back, interviewing anyone we can think of who might have been in the area at the time. We’re also running a background check on all school personnel, including the director, Lois Sheridan, and the girls’ teacher, Vickie Wilder. Lois Sheridan was the director ten years ago when the first abduction took place.”

“First abduction?”

Again Abby and Sheriff Mooney regarded the agent in surprise. “You don’t know about the first one? We sent a fairly lengthy fax to the Jackson office. They didn’t brief you?” the sheriff asked.

“I haven’t had a chance to do more than glance at the report,” Agent Burke said tersely. “Why don’t you two bring me up to speed? Later, I’ll want to have a look at the case files. All three, if the first abduction seems pertinent.”

“Oh, I’d say it’s pertinent, all right.” Sheriff Mooney shot Abby a glance. “Emily Campbell disappeared from the playground at Fairhaven Academy ten years to the day that Sadie Cross was abducted.”

“What about the third child? Sara Beth Brodie.” Abby had been watching the agent’s face closely, and she thought she detected a tightening of his features, a darkening in his eyes when he mentioned Sara Beth. But perhaps that was just her imagination. The man was already about as tense as he could get and had been since the moment he walked through the door. Abby had a feeling the austerity was normal for him.

“Abby?” She almost jumped when Sheriff Mooney said her name. She’d let her mind drift from the conversation, and now she realized they were waiting for her to speak, but she had no idea what the question had been.

Great, she thought dryly. Nothing like first impressions.

Her gaze met Sam Burke’s, and she thought she could discern a flicker of disdain in those icy gray depths.

“Why don’t you tell Agent Burke your theory?” Sheriff Mooney prompted.

“Shouldn’t Lieutenant Conyers be in on this meeting?” she asked, referring to the lead detective on the Emily Campbell case.

“Should be, but he’s not.” Sheriff Mooney glanced at his watch and scowled. Dave Conyers wasn’t known around the department for his promptness, nor for his consideration of others. If he’d missed a meeting called by the sheriff, it could be that he was following a hot lead. Or it could be he’d decided to stop off and have a cold beer. You never knew with Dave. “We don’t have time to wait for him,” the sheriff grumbled. “Go ahead and give Special Agent Burke your thoughts on both cases.”

Abby’s gaze moved reluctantly back to the agent. “I agree the school seems to be the obvious connection, but I’m not convinced the same suspect perpetrated all three crimes.”

Sam Burke lifted a dark brow. “Why not?”

“Partly it’s just a gut feeling,” Abby admitted, bracing herself for the agent’s condescension. “I agree with Sheriff Mooney that the disappearances are connected—maybe by the school, maybe in some other way—but that doesn’t mean we’re looking for only one suspect.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. Agent Burke’s gaze, so intense, was a little unnerving. “Emily Campbell was taken from the playground at Fairhaven on the tenth anniversary of Sadie’s disappearance. That can’t be a coincidence. Same school, same playground, almost the same time of day. The physical characteristics of the girls are also similar. Dark hair, brown eyes.”

Agent Burke was watching her with unwavering regard. Amazing, Abby thought. She finally had his attention. “Two days after Emily goes missing, Sara Beth Brodie disappears from a small drugstore a few blocks from the school. Not from the playground. The pattern is broken.”

“Let me play devil’s advocate for a minute,” Burke said. “After Emily Campbell was grabbed, security undoubtedly tightened at the school. The UNSUB—”

“UNSUB?” Sheriff Mooney said.

“Unidentified subject,” Burke clarified.

Mooney gave a shrug. “We just call ’em suspects down here.”

“All right, the suspect then. The point is, he could have hung around somewhere down the street until school was dismissed and then followed Sara Beth. He didn’t snatch her from the playground because he couldn’t. He was forced to change his M.O. His modus operandi.”

“I know what M.O. means,” Mooney snapped, momentarily losing his cool.

Abby decided she’d better jump back into the fray. “Sara Beth doesn’t share the same physical characteristics as the other two victims. She’s very petite, with curly blond hair and blue eyes.”

“What about a custody grab?” Burke asked.

Abby nodded. “It’s possible. The parents are legally separated, apparently headed for divorce court. There’s been some haggling between the lawyers about visitation.”

“You’ve interviewed both the mother and the father?” A slight emphasis on father.

“Of course,” Abby said with a frown. “Both seemed genuinely devastated by the news, but as we all know, emotions can be faked.”

“Yes,” Burke said. “That’s all too true, I’m afraid.” Again his gaze met Abby’s. She suppressed a sudden desire to avert her eyes, as if he could somehow see inside her. All the way to her soul, maybe.

“Two children missing within two days of each other,” he mused. “Another one disappeared ten years ago. All five years old. All went to the same school. Those are more than just vague similarities.”

“I realize that,” Abby said. “I’m just saying we can’t afford to overlook the possibility that Sara Beth’s disappearance could be a copy-cat abduction, maybe a parental abduction, maybe…something else.”

Again that flicker in Sam Burke’s eyes, a cold darkness that sent another shiver through Abby.

“What time did Sara Beth go missing?”

“Somewhere around 3:30,” Sheriff Mooney said. “Her father’s secretary picked her up from school at 3:15 or so, and they drove straight to the drugstore, which is less than five minutes away. The secretary, Luanne Plimpton, says that she and Sara Beth couldn’t have been in the store more than five minutes when she noticed the child was gone. She and the pharmacist, Gerald Ferguson, searched all over the store. It didn’t take long. It’s a small, privately owned pharmacy. No surveillance cameras or anything like that. The call to dispatch came in at 3:41. An officer was on the scene and had the area secured within ten, fifteen minutes, but what with the initial search, the place was pretty well contaminated.”

Sam glanced at his watch. “It’s just after three now. I need someone to show me where this drugstore is located. I want to be there, watching, when 3:30 rolls around.”

Meaning that whatever routine events had occurred in the area at the time of Sara Beth’s disappearance would likely occur again today at 3:30. Courier deliveries. People getting off work. Kids walking home from school. Potential witnesses that wouldn’t yet have been interviewed.

“I’ve got a couple of deputies already in place,” the sheriff told him. “But another pair of eyes and ears is always welcome. The Brodie case is Abby’s. She can ride along with you and fill you in on whatever details you’re missing.”

Abby had figured that was coming, but she wished she’d been a little quicker on her feet. Wished she’d suddenly had some critical errand that couldn’t wait.

Sam Burke stood. “Let’s get moving then.”

“I’m right behind you,” she said.

But at the door, he paused for her to pass through ahead of him. Abby wasn’t certain whether he’d done it out of common courtesy or to call attention to her gender, so she didn’t know whether to be appreciative or irritated.

She settled on annoyed, an emotion she suspected Special Agent Sam Burke generated fairly often.

SAM PARKED his rental car at the curb near Ferguson’s Drugstore where he and Sergeant Cross would have an unobstructed view of intersecting streets. A sheriff’s department cruiser was parked several feet in front of them and another a block and a half away. To their right lay the cordoned-off parking lot where dozens of tire tracks would have been marked, measured and photographed.

Across the pavement, the closed pharmacy looked abandoned, with its darkened windows and crime-scene tape crossed over the glass entrance.

For a moment, Sam closed his eyes, imagining the scenario as it might have unfolded. He could almost see Sara Beth’s abductor carrying her from the store. Putting her in a car and driving off with her, taking her away from her friends and family. Away from her mother.

Or maybe she’d been taken by someone local, someone who lived in one of the houses across the street. Some lonely, pathetic soul who had once lost a child. Who had seen Sara Beth and simply wanted her. What if the child was still nearby, so close Sam could almost reach out and touch her?

He gazed at the street, at the white, two-story houses with their darkened windows, and a dark dread bloomed inside him. It was possible that Sara Beth was close by, scared and miserable, but safe. Unharmed.

It was possible, but not very likely. Through twenty years in the FBI, Sam had seen how too many of these cases ended.

But not this one. Please, God, not this one.

Beside him, Sergeant Cross stirred in her seat. He gave her a brief glance. She was just a kid. Probably no more than twenty-seven, twenty-eight. Too wet behind the ears to know how to deal with a case like this. How much crime could there be in a place called Eden?

Enough, he guessed. Three little girls had gone missing.

He turned off the engine and rolled down his window. A wave of humidity flooded the car. “You ever worked a case like this?” he asked abruptly.

“An abduction, you mean?” She turned to face him, scowling slightly. “No. But I know what to do. We all do. Everyone in my department has followed protocol.”

“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise.” She was certainly prickly, Sam thought. It had been his experience that women in law enforcement could be just as territorial as their male counterparts. Sometimes more so. Sergeant Cross appeared to be no exception.

“Sorry.” She offered him an apologetic shrug. “I guess we’re all a little on edge around here.”

She hadn’t seen anything yet. “So tell me more about that gut feeling of yours.”

She gave him a surprised look, but didn’t say anything for a moment, as if she wasn’t quite certain of the sincerity of his question.

“What makes you think we’re looking for more than one UNSUB in these abductions?” he pressed.

“Like I said, it’s partly a gut instinct. Sara Beth’s disappearance just doesn’t feel right to me. And then there are the similarities between the other two girls—Sadie and Emily—which are so striking.” Sergeant Cross sat up straighter in her seat, as if she could make herself sound more convincing by doing so. “A few days before Emily Campbell was taken from the playground, a local TV station did a feature on Sadie’s abduction. My sister was interviewed—”

“Your sister?”

“Sadie Cross was my niece.”

Sam glanced at her, wondering if he should comment. Crimes against children were never easy to deal with, but when they hit close to home, it could be devastating because law-enforcement personnel knew better than anyone the brutal realities.

Oh, yes, Sam thought grimly. He knew about loss. He knew about reality. “Go on,” he said, in a voice that sounded brusque even to him.

“The show spent several minutes on Sadie’s story and even did a reenactment of the abduction. Some of the children who were with Sadie on the playground that day were also interviewed. They’re all fifteen years old now.” She paused, taking a breath. “That program could have been a trigger for Emily’s abductor.”

Sam glanced at her in surprise. He hadn’t expected her insight. His experiences with local law enforcement hadn’t always left him with a favorable impression.

“Think about it,” she said. “Some sicko, a child predator, say, saw the show and decided to act it out for himself. He stakes out the playground where Sadie was taken, and when he sees Emily, who looks like Sadie, he grabs her.” She shrugged. “It may sound far-fetched, but it is possible.”

“Anything is possible,” he agreed.

She paused for a moment, “But considering the timing—the anniversary of the first abduction—it seems more plausible that the same person kidnapped both Emily and Sadie. The suspect—the UNSUB,” she amended, using his lingo for an unidentified subject, “could have been in prison these past ten years for another crime, maybe even another abduction. He gets out, sees the show, and that’s all it takes to make him go on the hunt again.”

“And Sara Beth Brodie?”

Sergeant Cross frowned. “She doesn’t fit the pattern. Her abduction occurred two days after Emily’s and in a different location. And she doesn’t look like the other two girls.”

“Are you saying you think Emily’s disappearance was a stressor for Sara Beth’s abductor?” She had him intrigued, Sam had to admit. She had some things wrong, of course, but it was obvious she’d done her homework. He’d be willing to bet money that Sergeant Cross’s bookshelves were filled with non-fiction works written by some of the legendary profilers who’d come out of the famous Behavioral Science Unit at Quantico, Sam’s old stomping ground.

“I think stressor is the wrong terminology,” she said. “It implies someone with a compulsion. I think Emily’s disappearance gave Sara Beth’s abductor the idea.”

“Which could bring us back to a parental abduction.”

“Not necessarily. In fact, a ransom demand could still be made. Sara Beth’s father owns a car dealership here in town, as well as several small businesses around the county. By Eden standards, he’s pretty well off. And her mother is the manager of the Eden National Bank.”

“You’ve tapped their phones, both home and work?”

“Of course,” Abby said. “Tess Campbell’s phone is tapped as well, but she doesn’t have access to the kind of money the Brodies do. She has her own business, a cleaning service, but she’s hardly well-to-do. She’s a single mother, just like my sister was.”

“But I get the impression Fairhaven is a pretty exclusive school.”

“It is. And that’s another similarity between Emily and Sadie. They didn’t really fit in at Fairhaven. There’s usually a waiting list at the school, but in both Sadie and Emily’s cases, enrollment was down in the years in which they applied. Otherwise, I doubt either of them would have been accepted.”

Sam paused, thinking. “I’d like to talk to the staff, especially their teacher.”

“Her name is Vickie Wilder. She’s been very cooperative, even volunteered to take a polygraph when we interviewed her after Emily’s disappearance.”

“Was one administered?”

“No. She’s never been considered a real suspect.”

“Even though she has a connection to both Emily and Sara Beth?”

“A lot of people do,” Abby said. “This is a small town, Agent Burke. Everyone knows everyone else.”

For a split second, their gazes locked and an understanding, a terrible suspicion, passed between them. Everyone knows everyone else. Including the kidnapper?

Sam turned to gaze at the street, but he was very aware of the woman sitting next to him. Of the way her shoulder-length dark hair gleamed in the sunlight. Of the way her lashes shaded her soft, brown eyes. She was a good-looking woman, no doubt about it. Not too thin. Not too tall. Not beautiful exactly, but she possessed a quality that was hard to define.

She didn’t look a thing like Norah, and that, Sam decided, was definitely Sergeant Cross’s best feature.

“Let’s hit the street,” he said abruptly.

She glanced at him in surprise. “You saw something?”

“No. But I’d like to do a door-to-door.”

She started to say something, then stopped. Sam knew what was on her mind. The sheriff’s office would have already conducted a door-to-door immediately after the child was reported missing. They would have gone back for a deeper canvass once it became apparent Sara Beth hadn’t simply wandered off.

But another round of questions with a fresh set of eyes and ears never hurt, and Sergeant Cross was smart enough to realize that. She got out of the car and walked over to the cruiser, saying something to the driver before she came back over to Sam.

Heat shimmered off the pavement beneath their feet, and Sam could feel perspiration rivering down his back. His gaze moved irrevocably to the front of Sergeant Cross’s cotton T-shirt, where the damp fabric clung to her curves in a way he couldn’t help admiring. He was only human, although he had colleagues, past and present, who might take issue with that. Certainly Norah would.

Sergeant Cross lifted her hand to shade her eyes, and the subtle movement accentuated her body’s contours. The pale yellow fabric of her shirt hugged her tightly, and something inside Sam tightened. He’d gone too long without a woman’s company, and now suddenly, at the worst possible time, lust was beating him over the head with a vengeance.

He tore his attention from the front of Sergeant Cross’s T-shirt and scanned their surroundings.

“You want to do this together, or should we split up?” she asked.

Split up, was Sam’s first instinct. They could cover more ground that way. But he heard himself answering almost gruffly, “Maybe we’d better stick together since you know the area better than I do.”

“It’s your party.” She slipped on a pair of dark glasses and started toward the street.

Sam’s gaze dropped to her backside in spite of himself. Unfortunately for him, Sergeant Cross looked as good going as she did coming.

Chapter Three

Fayetta Gibbons had lived all of her life on First Street, in the same house in which she had been born sixty-nine years ago and raised by her beloved parents, Milford and Garnett Gibbons, both dead now almost half a century. They lay buried in the family plot at Holyoke Cemetery four blocks away on Peachtree Street, and a pink marble headstone ornately inscribed with Fayetta’s name and birth date marked a space nearby.

Fayetta’s daily habits always included a short visit to her parents’ graves. No matter the weather, the routine never varied. Depending on the season, she would take fresh flowers from her garden, sometimes for her parents’ graves and sometimes to place in the marble vase attached to her own tombstone in the event that after she was gone, no one else would think to.

Except for her afternoon walks and church on Sundays, Fayetta rarely left her home. She’d never married, never had a suitor that anyone in town knew about, and had never, apparently, been sick a day in her life. As she approached her seventieth birthday, she could become a bit confused at times, but her blue gaze, keen as ball lightning on a hot summer night, still missed precious little of the goings-on around her.

If anyone would have taken note of anything suspicious in the neighborhood on the day of little Sara Beth’s abduction, it would be Fayetta Gibbons, Abby assured Sam.

They waited now on her front porch as she carried out a tray of lemonade and crystal glasses. Sam rose from the wicker rocker he’d been assigned and took the tray from her. Fayetta smiled and batted her lashes at him. “Why, thank you…Mr. Burke, wasn’t it? Such a gentleman,” she said to Abby. “A trait one finds all too rarely these days.” Her blue gaze skimmed Agent Burke’s dark suit approvingly. It wouldn’t matter to Fayetta that he had to be melting in this heat. He looked dignified, and Fayetta came from an era where appearances meant everything. Abby suspected the woman would be wearing hoop skirts if she could find some.

As it was, her starched floral shirtwaist looked fresh and crisp, as if she’d donned it only moments before her callers had arrived. In comparison, Abby felt like something her cats had dragged in. The jeans and T-shirt she’d put on that morning in anticipation of tramping through woods and vacant lots had definitely seen better days. She could feel Fayetta’s ladylike disdain rake over her as smoothly as a butter knife on cream frosting.

Fayetta handed her a glass of lemonade, and Abby gratefully accepted it, resisting the urge to touch the icy glass to the back of her neck.

“So tell me, Abigail. How is your mother? I haven’t seen her in church in ages. Is she still feeling under the weather, poor dear?”

“Mama died three years ago, Miss Gibbons. Don’t you remember? You played the organ at her funeral.”

The blue eyes clouded momentarily, then cleared. “Yes, of course. ‘Amazing Grace,’ wasn’t it? That was always Papa’s favorite. I wore my navy dress, and Trixie Baker did my hair that morning, but I didn’t like the shade. It was too brassy, but Trixie insisted it made me look twenty years younger.” Fayetta patted her impossibly blond hair, pulled back and done up in an elaborate bun—the same style she’d worn since the beginning of time. “An outrageous lie, of course, but one is never too old to enjoy a compliment.” She glanced at Agent Burke hopefully.

She’d seated him in the wicker rocker next to hers. Abby had been relegated to the porch steps, perhaps because of her age, but more likely because Fayetta, even though a spinster, was well practiced in the age-old Southern-Belle tradition of jockeying for the most desirable position next to an attractive gentleman.

But Fayetta needn’t have troubled herself. Her subtle coquetry was lost on Agent Burke because he was no Southerner and, Abby suspected, at times no gentleman. He didn’t quite grasp the expectations of an afternoon call, social or otherwise. He leaned forward, his expression almost stern as he dispensed with the niceties. “Miss Gibbons, we’d like to ask you some questions about the little girl who disappeared from Ferguson’s Drugstore yesterday afternoon.”

Stung by his abruptness, Fayetta sat back in her rocker, fanning herself vigorously with a fan from Grossman’s Funeral Home. “What’s this all about, Abigail? The police have already been here. I told them I didn’t see anything. I wasn’t even home when that poor child was taken. Don’t you think if I’d witnessed anything suspicious, I would have hollered all the way to Kingdom Come and back?”

“This is just routine,” Abby soothed. “We’re talking to everyone who lives on this street. Sometimes people remember things after the initial interview. We came to your house first, that’s all.”

Fayetta gave her a narrowed look. “Have you talked to Gertie Ellers? She’s always got her nose stuck where it doesn’t belong.”

“Unfortunately, Mrs. Ellers is in Biloxi with her daughter and grandchildren. She won’t be home until next week.

Fayetta gave a very unladylike snort. “I declare, I don’t know how anyone could put up with that woman for a whole week. Her daughter must have the patience of a saint is all I can think—”

“Miss Gibbons, these questions are very important,” Agent Burke said impatiently.

The rocking stopped. The fanning ceased. Fayetta shot Abby a look as if to say, How dare you bring this ill-mannered lout to my home?

“Two little girls have gone missing,” Abby explained. “We’re doing everything we can to find them, but we haven’t had much luck so far. I’m sure you’ll forgive us if we sound a little…abrupt.”

A pause, then after a moment, the rocking and fanning resumed. “It is a terrible tragedy,” Fayetta conceded. “But I don’t see how I can help.”

“We’re just trying to establish a routine for this street at the time of day that little Sara Beth went missing. If we get people to think about their whereabouts and activities, they may remember something that can help us.”

“But I already told Sheriff Mooney I wasn’t home. I left for the cemetery at three. Just like I did today. Just like I do every day.”

Sam Burke started to say something, but Abby smoothly waved him off. “Did you walk east on First and then south on Peachtree, or did you take Maple down to Mimosa and then cut over to Peachtree?”

Fayetta scowled. “Does it matter?”

“Sara Beth was picked up from school by her father’s secretary, Luanne Plimpton. According to Miss Plimpton, after they left the school grounds, she drove west on First Street in a silver Lincoln Town Car. We think they may have been followed from the school by Sara Beth’s abductor. If you were walking east on First, toward Peachtree, you might have met them. You could have seen the car.”

“I don’t pay much attention to automobiles,” Fayetta said doubtfully. “Although there was a time when I coveted a Studebaker Papa owned. It was a beautiful car, and it rode like a dream. He never let me drive it, of course, because Mama said that driving wasn’t a seemly pastime for young ladies.” She paused, flashing Abby a knowing look. “I’m sure you must find me hopelessly old-fashioned, Abigail. You Cross gals have always pretty much done as you pleased, and driving cars was the least of it.”

A faint heat stole over Abby’s face. She glanced at Sam Burke who was gazing back at her with…what? Curiosity? Disdain?

More like impatience, she thought. He had little use for all this idle chit-chat, and she knew if she didn’t make headway soon with Fayetta, Agent Burke was liable to try and strong-arm information from the poor woman.

“As I said, the car Luanne Plimpton was driving was a silver Lincoln Town Car. It’s a pretty big car,” Abby added. “Do you remember seeing a car like that on First Street yesterday afternoon?”

Fayetta shook her head. “No, but I didn’t go down First Street. I took Maple over to Mimosa, like you said. It’s a little out of the way, but it’s shadier. I can’t take the heat like I once could. They say once you’ve suffered a heat-stroke, your tolerance for the sun is weakened.”

“What about your return trip? Did you come back the same way?”

“Yes, although by that time of day, First Street has a little shade, too, but I like to look at Inez Wentworth’s garden. She grows roses, you know, but in this heat, you don’t get much of a bloom—”

“What time did you get home?” Abby cut in, her own patience slipping a bit.

“Why, Abigail,” Fayetta said in a wounded tone. “You may have inherited the Cross disposition for trouble, but I know your mother and certainly your Grandmother Eulalia taught you better than to interrupt your elders.”

Abby sighed, running a hand through her damp hair. She avoided Sam Burke’s dark gaze because she knew if her patience was running thin, his had evaporated altogether. “I’m sorry, Miss Gibbons. It’s just that time is of the essence here. We have to find those little girls, no matter whose feelings we may trample on. Those children have to come first. I know you agree.”

Fayetta gave her a grudging nod. “Of course. Ask your questions, Abigail, but I still don’t see—” She stopped herself this time and clamped her lips together, as if that were the only way she could remain silent.

“What time do you think you left the cemetery?” Abby asked.

Fayetta sighed. “It takes me fifteen minutes to walk to the cemetery. That is, if no one stops to talk with me and no one did yesterday. I visited with Mama and Papa for maybe another fifteen minutes, no more, because the heat was so unbearable.”

“So at 3:30, or thereabouts, you were already heading back home on Mimosa. Did you see anything unusual, any strange cars in the neighborhood? Anything at all?”

“No, nothing like that. Except…” Fayetta paused. “I don’t know that I’d call it unusual, because from what I hear, those kids are always getting into some kind of mischief or other. But Tami Pratt’s boys almost got hit by a car. I saw it with my own two eyes.”

“What happened?” Sam Burke was gazing at the poor woman so intently, Abby almost felt sorry for her. Fayetta’s fanning became even more vigorous.

“They were on those blasted skateboards.” She looked extremely indignant. “And you know how kids are with those things. A body’s not safe on the street. I don’t know why something can’t be done.”

Abby refrained from pointing out that there were worse activities for kids to engage in than skateboarding, but she’d heard about the Pratt boys. At thirteen and fifteen, Marcus and Mitchell had already been in a little trouble. Trespassing, vandalism—kid-type pranks that all too often escalated into more serious incidents. Abby jotted their names in her notebook.

“What happened?” she asked.

“They started to cross the street at the corner of Mimosa and Maple, whooping and hollering, not paying any attention to where they were going. When they got into the middle of the street, a car came tearing down Maple. It missed them by only inches, I mean. The two boys started yelling at the driver and shaking their fists, but I think it must have shaken them up pretty badly because they took off like a pair of scalded dogs on those skateboards.”

“What about the car?” Sam Burke queried. “Do you remember the color?”

“Of course. It was white, just like my Papa’s Studebaker.”

“Do you remember the make or model?”

She looked at him as if he were from a different planet.

“Was it old or new?” Abby supplied. “Ford, Chevrolet…”

Fayetta seemed at a loss. “Well, I don’t think it was old,” she finally said. “But I can’t swear that it was new, either. And I don’t know one brand of car from the other. Except for Studebakers. But you don’t see many of those these days.”

“What about dents or scratches, anything about it that might have stood out in your mind?”

She shook her head. “No. It was just a white car.”

“Two-door or four-door?”

“I—I’m not sure.”

“Did the driver get out of the car?” Agent Burke asked.

“No, but I imagine he was shaken up as well. You know how people like to sue these days, and from what I hear, Tami Pratt doesn’t have a nickel to her name since that no-good husband of hers took off with Wanda Jean—

“How long did the driver remain at the intersection?”

“No more than a second or two. Then he drove off like the devil himself was after him.”

“He?”

Fayetta hesitated. “I say he. I guess I still assume all drivers are men, but that’s not the case these days, is it? It could have been a woman.”

“You didn’t get a look at the driver’s face?” Abby asked.

“There wasn’t time. It all happened so fast, and I think he was wearing a cap or something. I was more concerned about the child in the back seat. She wasn’t wearing a seat belt. It’s a thousand wonders that poor little thing wasn’t thrown clean through the windshield.”

“YEAH, RIGHT, you’re an FBI agent,” Marcus Pratt jeered an hour later when they’d tracked the boys down and Sam had introduced himself. As their mother had suggested, Sam and Abby had found the boys skateboarding at an abandoned gas station a few blocks from their home, blithely ignoring the No Trespassing signs posted in conspicuous areas.

“What makes you think I’m not FBI?” Sam asked.

“Because you’re way too old, man. I bet you couldn’t chase down a crook if your life depended on it.”

“We can’t all look like Agent Mulder,” Sam said, nodding toward the “X-Files” T-shirt the younger boy wore. He glanced at Abby and saw that she was trying hard, without much success, to hide a grin. She would find this amusing, he thought dryly, especially after he’d come down so hard on her after the interview with Fayetta Gibbons.

“Didn’t you people even talk to that woman? We should have known about that car twenty-four hours ago. It could have made all the difference.”

“You don’t know that,” Abby had retorted. “Sara Beth might not have been the child Fayetta saw in the back seat. And besides, if it hadn’t been for me, we still wouldn’t even know about the white car, and we wouldn’t know about the other two possible witnesses. I didn’t see you glean much information from her, especially after you alienated her five seconds into the interview.”

She was right, of course. Abby had an easy rapport with the locals that made them trust her in a way they never would an outsider. But that knowledge didn’t lessen Sam’s frustration. In truth, it probably added to it.

He didn’t know why Abby Cross grated on his nerves the way she did, or why he felt an almost compulsive need to pick an argument with her and to find fault with her. Maybe it was the heat and the tension of working a life-and-death case.

Or maybe it was because he just didn’t want to acknowledge the sexual tension that had been dancing between them like a live wire all afternoon.

She’s too young for you, a voice warned inside his head. Too young and too naive.

But, unfortunately, his body was telling him something else.

Marcus Pratt’s derisive snicker drew Sam’s attention back to the conversation with an unpleasant thud. “Agent Mulder you definitely ain’t,” the kid taunted. “Skinner maybe,” he added, alluding to an older—and balder—character on the same show.

Sam suppressed the urge to run his hand through his hair—still thick in most places—along with the desire to muzzle the boy’s smart mouth. At fifteen, Marcus Pratt had obviously developed an unhealthy contempt for authority figures, male ones especially. It was an attitude that would likely carry him far in life. First to school detention. Then juvenile hall. Then prison, if something didn’t happen to get him back on track.

Sam recognized the type. The father had deserted the family, leaving a young mother to cope with the difficulties of raising two boys. But Tami Pratt was no shrinking violet. Sam had gotten the impression that the woman’s personality could be a bit overwhelming at times, and her oldest son was desperately trying to assert his masculine dominance. To make matters worse, he was slight for his age. What he lacked in stature, he tried to make up for in bluster.

His thirteen-year-old brother was almost as tall, but there was no mistaking the pecking order. Mitchell hung back, swiping his dirty blond hair out of his face while he allowed his brother to do all the talking.

“We’d like to ask you boys a few questions, if you don’t mind,” Abby said.

Marcus cocked his head toward her. “So who’s she supposed to be? Agent Scully?”

His insolent gaze raked over Abby’s jeans and T-shirt in a manner that set Sam’s teeth on edge. Was it his imagination, or had Sergeant Cross’s clothing gotten more snug as the day wore on?

Apparently he shared the same image with Marcus Pratt. The kid gave a low whistle. “Not bad,” he muttered, staring at Abby in a way no kid should be allowed to.

Leering should be reserved for dirty old men, Sam decided. Like himself.

“I’m Sergeant Cross,” Abby said coolly, flashing her ID in Marcus’s face. Her shield was clipped to the waistband of her jeans, and she made sure the kid saw it. “I’m a detective with the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department. We’re investigating the disappearances of two little girls.”

“So? What do you expect us to do about it? Pin a medal on you or something?” He glanced at his grinning brother.

“The girls’ names are Emily Campbell and Sara Beth Brodie. Maybe you heard about the disappearances on the news?” When he merely stared at her sullenly, Abby’s mouth tightened. “We have reason to believe you two boys were in the vicinity at the time Sara Beth Brodie went missing.”

Marcus flicked back a long strand of hair from his face. “What do we look like, kidnappers?”

“We’re not accusing you of anything. But we’ve got a witness who can place you on Mimosa Street near Holyoke Cemetery at around 3:30 yesterday afternoon.”

“You ain’t got squat,” the kid said with practiced aplomb. “We were home all afternoon. Right, Mitch?”

The younger boy swallowed and nodded, his gaze darting first to Sam and then back to his brother. “Uh, yeah.”

“That’s not exactly what your mother told us,” Sam said.

Marcus’s face turned beet red. “You already talked to our old lady about this? Hell, man. What’d you have to go and do that for?”

At last, a chink in the kid’s armor, Sam thought.

“Let’s try this again,” Abby said, pushing her dark hair behind her ears. “Were you and your brother on Mimosa Street yesterday or not?”

Another glance passed between the two boys. “What if we were?”

“Were you almost hit by a car?”

His gaze narrowed. “How’d you know—” He clammed up, realizing he’d given himself away.

“About that car,” Abby said firmly. “Do you remember what color it was?”

“Maybe white. Maybe not.”

“Was it white or wasn’t it?” Sam demanded.

Marcus slanted him a surly glance, almost daring Sam to get violent with him. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

Sam took the kid’s arm, not applying enough pressure to hurt him, but making sure the boy knew he meant business. “Now you listen to me, kid. Two little girls are missing. Their lives are at stake. I don’t have the time or the patience for your attitude. You’re a bad ass. Okay. We got it. Now answer Sergeant Cross’s questions.” He didn’t say “or else.” He didn’t have to.

Something that might have been respect glimmered in the boy’s eyes before he replaced it with a scowl. He rubbed his arm. “The car was white.”

“Did you recognize the make or model?” Abby asked, flashing Sam a look he couldn’t quite fathom.

Marcus shrugged. “How should I know? I didn’t hang around long enough to find out.” But he eased away from Sam as he said it.

“It was a Chevy,” Mitchell said, speaking up for the first time. “Maybe a ’91 or ’92 Caprice. Something like that.”

Sam gazed down at the boy. “You sure about that, son?”

“Don’t call him son,” Marcus snapped. “You’re not his old man.”

“I know cars,” Mitchell said shyly. “My dad’s got a ’67 Camaro we aim to fix up.”

“Yeah, right. When hell freezes over,” Marcus muttered.

“Mitchell.” Sam walked over and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. It was thin and bony, making him seem younger than his age and vulnerable somehow.

For a moment, Sam’s heart seemed to stop. It had been a long time since he’d been around kids. After their son had died, he and Norah had cut themselves off from friends and acquaintances with children. Eventually, they’d cut themselves off from each other. Norah had found solace in her own way, and Sam had immersed himself in work, in cases so sordid and gruesome he had no time to think of his own misery. To wonder what might have been.

But as he gazed down at Mitchell Pratt, he suddenly saw another boy’s eyes staring up at him. He suddenly wondered if he would have been the kind of father a son would be proud of. The kind of father a boy could count on.

He wondered if he would have been a better father than he had been a husband.

Not that it mattered. He’d lost Jonathan to cancer, Norah to neglect, and Sam didn’t plan to ever remarry. And now he was too old to start a family, even if he wanted to, which he didn’t. Jonathan could never be replaced, and besides, if he’d learned anything in his twenty-year journey into darkness, it was that too damned much of this world was not a nice place for children.

Even a town called Eden.

He glanced at Abby and found that she was gazing back at him. Her expression was puzzled, as if she’d glimpsed something in him that she hadn’t expected to see. That he might not want her to see.

His grasp on Mitchell’s shoulder tightened almost imperceptibly. “You’re certain about everything you told us?” he asked again.

Mitchell nodded solemnly.

“He knows a lot about cars,” Marcus said grudgingly. “He hangs around garages every chance he gets. If Mitchell says it was a Caprice, then that’s what it was.”

“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.

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