“I can’t tell if it’s Sophie and my ex-husband from this picture.”

Garnet continued to explain, “It’s too far away and fuzzy. If the man is my ex, he’s had a makeover. Yet this girl’s smile is so like Sophie’s my chest aches to see it. I’d give anything just to hug her again.”

Without warning, Garnet burst into tears and the snapshot fell to the floor.

Unable to stand by while she fell apart, Julian did what came naturally. He wrapped Garnet in a tight embrace. Feeling her stiffen, he immediately let go. However, her tears didn’t stop.

Saying a silent to hell with it, Julian moved in again, and held her until her tears were spent.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Roz Denny Fox has been a RITA® Award finalist and has been placed in a number of other contests; her books have also appeared on the Waldenbooks bestseller list. Roz currently resides in Tucson, Arizona, with her husband, Denny. They have two daughters.

Dear Reader,

The most asked question of an author is “Where do your ideas come from?” The answer is as diverse as the stories themselves. For me it’s usually a snippet I read about or overhear that nags me to write my own version, as it was in this case.

A few years ago a reader wrote to say she’d read one of my books. In the letter she mentioned truth being stranger than fiction. Her husband, she said, a postman, was instrumental in reconnecting a child – pictured on one of the lost-children cards he delivered – with the child’s mother. Off and on I found myself wondering how it has all worked out. But since I didn’t know the “real” story, I made up how I’d like such a reunion to turn out. I like happy endings, and I like good people. I took liberties with this story that probably aren’t true to life. Especially as I have a friend in social work who says domestic abductions rarely end well. More often than not the child ends up hurt, because children love both mum and dad equally.

In this book I wanted to delve into the feelings and emotions of two parents involved in such a case. And since it’s fiction, I really wanted the best possible ending for my stolen child, Sophie Patton. I hope you like her story.

Roz Denny Fox

PS Readers can contact me at PO Box 17480-101, Tucson, AZ 85731, USA or rdfox@ worldnet.att.net.

Looking for Sophie

ROZ DENNY FOX

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

JULIAN CAVENAUGH closed the folder and pushed his chair back from his desk. He and his partner, Rick Barnett, had finally cracked the case after four months of tracking leads, many of which had gone nowhere, leaving everyone frustrated. Even as a veteran detective in one of Atlanta’s grittiest precincts, he felt good about putting another alleged murderer behind bars. His chief had suggested he take a vacation now before plunging into his next case. Rick had already taken his family to Florida for sun and fun. But Julian hadn’t decided yet. Too much downtime could make him lose his edge.

He was, however, toying with the idea of going fishing with his dad for a couple of days. Even though his family lived just thirty miles outside Atlanta, Julian hadn’t seen them since Christmas. His crazy schedule hadn’t allowed it.

His phone rang, jerking him back to attention. “Cavenaugh,” he snapped.

“Julian, it’s Mom.”

He gripped the receiver tighter, thinking maybe he’d conjured up this call. “What’s wrong?” Neglectful or not, Julian couldn’t remember his family ever phoning him at the office. They left messages at his apartment or on his cell because no one wanted to bother him at work.

“It’s your dad.” Beth Cavenaugh’s voice sounded odd.

“Is it his heart? How bad? Damn, we all warned him at Christmas to lay off the rich desserts.” Julian glanced at the wall clock. “If I leave now, I can be in Mosswood in under an hour.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to frighten you. Your father is well enough.” Beth lowered her voice. “He’s done it again, Julian. Sam is positive he’s recognized one of the kids on his route from a card. Oh, I shouldn’t bother you. I did try Taggert and Josh first, but they refuse to talk to him. And he’s not listening to me. I’ve reminded him he’s only got six months until he can retire and the department will drop the earlier reprimand so he goes out with a clean record, but Sam claims this isn’t about him. And… Julian…what if he’s right this time?”

Shutting his eyes, Julian rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen, I just closed a big case—the west-end serial murders. You’ve probably seen it on the news. Chief MacHale wants me to take some time off. Let me tie up some loose ends here, then I’ll come down to see you tomorrow. Maybe I can reason with Pop.”

“Oh, would you? I didn’t want to ask, but this is so much like the last time. He’s a stubborn old coot when he gets it in his head that he’s right. It’s not like he’s even seen this little girl up close. They’re a fairly new family on his mail route. I just want him to be careful and not make wild accusations again.”

Julian tried to reassure his mother. “Don’t worry. I have avenues to check that we didn’t have before.”

Beth seemed relieved and before hanging up they arranged that he’d arrive around one the next day.

Julian sat quietly for a moment, letting his thoughts drift back to the disaster that had his mother concerned even now. He’d been a high-school sophomore. Tag and Josh were in junior high and Celeste still in grade school. Tag had invited a new friend home for supper. After the boy left the Cavenaughs, Sam had pulled out a card sent by the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. Sam delivered one or two of the cards along his route every week, and he kept copies for himself. The whole family had agreed the new boy was a dead ringer for a kid listed as missing from a nearby state.

But within hours of Sam calling the hotline all hell broke loose in sleepy Mosswood. An FBI team swept in and the scandal that followed their investigation was huge. Bigger than huge. Tag’s friend wasn’t the missing boy. And rather than praising Sam Cavenaugh for doing his civic duty, the boy’s dad, rich as Warren Buffett, did his best to get Sam fired. Mr. Miller was so angry over the scrutiny and suspicion he and his family were forced to endure, he closed a factory he’d recently opened in town. A hundred residents lost their jobs.

For a while, the Cavenaughs were pariahs. If the NCMEC hadn’t supported Samuel, he would’ve been fired. The agency spokesman released a statement asking where lost and stolen kids would be if people like Sam Cavenaugh never stuck their necks out? All the same, an official reprimand went on Sam’s record. It took years for the town to forgive and forget.

Julian knew that his father had done the right thing. All cops relied on citizen tips in their cases. Still, Julian understood why his mom was worried.

Julian quickly exited his shared office and left his file on the murder case in the clerk’s out-basket where Rick Barnett had already left his. Down the hall, he knocked on Chief MacHale’s door.

“I don’t want to see you for at least two weeks,” Conrad MacHale said, signing and dating the vacation request Julian handed him. “No two or three days and you’re back.” MacHale paused to examine him more closely. “Man, you look like hell—like you haven’t slept since this case started. Go relax. Get on that motorcycle you’re so fond of, find a hot date and have a good time. Just don’t come back for two weeks. A month would be better, but we can’t spare you that long.”

“In a month a guy could forget how to do the job.”

“I doubt that.” MacHale’s laugh was dry as he passed Julian a copy of the form. “Your record’s one of the best in the precinct, if not the whole town.”

Julian left the chief’s office smiling, but without responding to the rare compliment. Mac didn’t give them often and he wouldn’t appreciate gushy thanks. All the same, his comment went a long way toward relieving Julian’s fatigue. And he was tired. This last case had taken a long four months.

Still, there was no job he’d rather have. A collar like the one he’d just made made up for all the crappy days. Their team had solid DNA evidence linking Fred Struthers to a string of rapes and murders in a normally secure section of town. With Struthers in custody, residents and cops could breathe easier.

As he left the building, heading home, Julian remembered his folks hadn’t been overjoyed with his career choice. They both had safe jobs, as they pointed out. Sam had delivered mail for almost thirty years come rain, snow or blistering sun. Beth sold real estate part-time. Their combined income left them comfortably middle-class, and had made it possible for their four kids to attend university. At thirty-one, Tag managed a swank Atlanta hotel. Josh, twenty-nine, was a news anchor at the local TV station. Celeste, the baby at twenty-eight, worked as a neonatal nurse now that her twin girls had started school.

Julian’s siblings were all happily married and had given his folks grandbabies to spoil. He would’ve thought they’d be happy with that. But any time he made it to Mosswood for family gatherings, he felt subtle—if not overt—pressure, to get married. One Cavenaugh or another would invite an unsuspecting single woman to dinner for the express purpose of shoving her at Julian.

Celeste, married to a doctor, had once asked if he ever met women at work. He grinned to himself, recalling her face when he’d said, “Sure, sis. Hookers.” That had effectively put an end to questions for that meal. Of course, he knew Celeste was asking if he met any nice single women cops. Cops marrying cops worked for some, but Julian preferred not to talk shop 24/7. When he got home, he wanted to leave the world’s troubles behind. His time off was erratic, which made regular dating difficult. It was a big reason why, at thirty-three, he was still unmarried and okay with it. Mostly. At times, he envied his siblings….

THE NEXT DAY, after packing the saddle bags on his custom black-and-chrome Ducati Monster, Julian cruised the back roads to Mosswood. He loved feeling the wind in his face. Spring in Georgia could be muggy or mild; today was pleasant. Sunshine filtered through a canopy of hickory and sweet-gum trees, late-blooming dogwoods still had enough waxy blossoms to entice photography buffs out of their cars.

The scent of honeysuckle permeated the air, and Julian glimpsed a pair of yellow-throated warblers flitting among the bushes. He’d forgotten how freedom felt.

He didn’t bother planning how to approach his dad. Sam Cavenaugh’s love for his kids wasn’t complicated. Julian knew they’d be able to talk openly and honestly about what was worrying Beth.

Julian motored along his parents’ treelined street. His family’s redbrick home complemented a backdrop of well-tended flowerbeds and a manicured lawn. Julian and his siblings had grown up here, and the sight of the house always made him nostalgic. Of the four Cavenaugh kids, Julian was least likely to ever need a five-bedroom home. Still at every get-together, he said, “Remember, if you two ever want to downsize, I’d be happy to take it off your hands.”

His mom must have been watching for him. Julian had barely parked his bike in the drive and removed his helmet when she burst from the house, ran to meet him and engulfed him in a hug. Like all her boys, Julian towered over Beth’s petite five-two frame. Because she loved to cook, she tended to be on the plump side. The fact Julian looked gaunt didn’t escape her eagle eye.

“Sakes alive, I can see there’s no doughnut shop near your station. Well, no matter, I’m fixing your favorite meal tonight. No objections, now,” she said when Julian opened his mouth. “And I’ve invited a nice young woman to join us. A new member of my gourmet cooking club. Such a sweet girl. I just know you’re going to love her.”

“Ma, I came because you asked me to talk to Pop. If this visit is really about you matchmaking, I’m getting right back on my bike.”

His mother kept a firm hold on his arm as she steered him inside. “Honestly, I thought you prided yourself on juggling a dozen cases at once. Are you saying you can’t meet a pretty girl and head your dad off at the pass?”

“I’m saying I’m not looking for a wife. If that’s why you invited the gourmet cook to join us for dinner, uninvite her. Besides, the fewer people who hear about Pop’s sighting another missing child, the better.”

“You’re right.” Beth pouted a bit as they entered the house, but she picked up the phone anyway, so Julian knew he’d made his point.

He’d unpacked a few shirts and was seated at the kitchen table enjoying a cold beer, when his dad ambled in from work. Sam greeted his son with a slap on his back that morphed into a sort of hug.

“Hey, stranger. I hear you caught the guy you were looking for. Congratulations! I assume that’s why Mom and I have the pleasure of your company. Good work, son.”

“Thanks. It was a tough case. The chief wants me rested and ready to testify at the trial. I thought I’d see if you felt like tossing a line in the river. Why don’t you grab a beer? We can go sit on the back porch and discuss the best fishing hole.”

“Sorry, son. You’ll have to go fishing alone. I’m involved in a bit of surveillance, myself.”

“Oh?” Julian feigned surprise.

“Let me get that beer. And then we’ll go out where your mom can’t overhear us. She thinks I’m a meddling old fool but I know I’m right this time. Actually, I’m glad you’re here. This is right up your alley.”

Julian had thought he’d have to pump his dad for information. This was almost too easy, he decided, twisting the cap off a second bottle of light beer.

Once they’d settled into matching wicker rockers, Sam leaned toward Julian and began his story. “There’s this new family on my postal route, see. They moved in about four months ago. A mom, dad and three kids. Two boys go to school and, like normal kids, are out tossing a ball or riding bikes when they get home. The girl, a pretty little tyke, looks out the window until someone inside notices and closes the drapes. I call that odd. Something’s not right. So, I go to my file of missing-children cards and bingo, I see a kid that could be her, only younger. Same hair, same heart-shaped face. If you were me, wouldn’t you call the hotline?”

Julian took a swig from his bottle and rocked back in his chair. “I might remember the last time this happened and take it kinda easy, Pop.”

“Yeah, yeah. That other time was unfortunate. I missed a big clue. That boy was out around town, attending school. I’m smarter now. I’m keeping an eye on this family.”

Julian picked at the label on his beer. “You see any evidence this girl’s being abused?”

“No. But, shouldn’t a five-or six-year-old be in school, or out playing with her brothers? If they are her brothers. She’s blond as blond can be. The boys are dark eyed and dark haired. Dad’s got long black hair. He ties it back like some young fellas do. I’ve only seen the mother once. She has sorta nut-brown hair.”

“The man, does he act sneaky or is he a tough-guy sort?”

“Uh, he’s not real neighborly. Grunts hello if I’m putting mail in his box when he arrives home from work. He’s blue-collar. He always wears jeans and a work shirt and they’re often greasy. A couple of Saturdays I’ve seen him in the driveway shooting hoops with the boys. And they barbecue out back.”

“Sounds like a normal family. He play with all three kids?”

“Their fence is six feet high. I’m not about to give myself away by peeking over it. I’m telling you, Julian. My gut tells me something’s fishy.”

“You’re real close to retirement, Pop.”

“Now you sound like your mom. You think I should turn a blind eye?”

Julian fidgeted. His dad clearly felt the girl didn’t belong to that family. While he’d come here to help his mother talk his dad out of doing something foolish, Julian understood gut feelings. Sometimes acting on them broke a case. Even knowing that his mom wouldn’t appreciate it, he couldn’t help saying, “I could fill in for you on your route the next couple of days. See what I observe. I still have the relief-worker status I got that time you wrecked your back.”

“That’s an idea. I’ll pick up the mail from the station and tell my boss that I hurt my knee but you’re home and can help out. He’ll jump on that. He hates the hassle of requesting a relief person.”

“I remember that. I’d rather go fishing, but surveillance is my forte.” Julian didn’t add that if he could prove that Sam was definitely wrong, Beth could stop worrying.

Rather than take Sam’s postal cart the next day, Julian loaded mail in his bike saddlebags. He took his cell phone along so he could snap pictures from a safe distance. Before heading off, he studied the card with the photo of the missing girl. It was a grainy black-and-white shot. “Pop, this kid was last seen in Anchorage, Alaska, over a year ago. It’s a stretch to think she’d wind up in backwater Georgia. Another thing, don’t kids this age change a lot in a year? I’m thinking of Celeste’s twins. I see them occasionally, but at each visit they look so different I don’t know which twin is which.”

“Their smiles and face shape don’t change.”

Julian had to give give his dad that. He started the Ducati and drove off. Most old-timers on the route knew him and many expressed concern for Sam. Julian stuck to the story about his dad’s bum knee.

His father had told him which house to watch for, so when he got there, Julian took his sweet time sorting out the mail. A few bills addressed to Lee Hackett, some junk circulars. Julian had timed his delivery to coincide with school dismissal. Sure enough, two grade-school-aged boys stopped to admire his motorcycle. Introducing himself, Julian handed them the mail while casually asking their names.

“I’m Toby, he’s Gavin,” the youngest said. “Our dad used to have a blue Harley,” he volunteered.

“Cool. Did he sell it?” Julian asked, gazing into the open, empty garage attached to the side of a small house that sat back off the street.

“I meant our real dad. He died. Uh, maybe Lee had a bike, too. I bet he fixes them. Lee’s a mechanic.”

“Ah…so, Mr. Hackett’s your stepfather?” Julian tucked the rest of the mail back into the saddlebag.

Toby hesitated before saying, “Lee wants to adopt me and Gavin. Mom said it takes money, though. More money than we’ve got.”

The older boy grabbed his brother’s arm and pulled him up the drive. “Where’s the old dude who usually brings our mail?” He eyed Julian suspiciously.

“My dad wrenched his knee. The doc wants him to stay off it a couple of days. When I was your age I helped with his route. I’m down from Atlanta on vacation.”

A woman stuck her head out a door opening into the garage. “You boys get inside and change out of your school clothes. Who are you talking to?”

“The mailman’s son,” the eldest boy shouted.

Julian glimpsed a curly-haired girl poking her head out around her mother’s leg. The boys’ backs were turned, so he opened his cell and snapped two photos. By the time the youngest boy turned back, Julian had punched in Josh’s number and wandered back to his bike with the phone at his ear. Toby waved nonchalantly before he and his brother ran into the house.

Josh picked up as Julian casually straddled his bike, giving the appearance of being in no rush to leave. “Hey, son of a gun, I wangled a few days off. I’m staying with the folks, but Mom’s up to her usual tricks. Last night I talked her out of inviting a woman to dinner. Tonight I need an excuse to escape. You and Dawn going to be home later?”

Josh sounded delighted, so the brothers made plans to get together. Julian was stowing his phone when he noticed the girl peering out between the front drapes. He got off two more quick shots before one of her brothers yanked her out of sight and their mother appeared. She stared at Julian, then adjusted the panels. He definitely got the feeling that she didn’t want him hanging around.

He wheeled his bike down the street to the next mailbox, stopping where the woman could see him if she chose to look. And Julian thought maybe she did, so he took his time delivering the mail and making chitchat with neighbors.

He made a point of passing back by the Hackett house on his way home. Luck was with him. A man was pulling into the garage as Julian motored past. He noted the license number on the unremarkable minivan.

The minute he reached his parents’ home, he logged on to a secure Web site and ran the plate through the state system. It checked out okay. The van was licensed to Lee Hackett at that street address. A separate probe didn’t turn up any prior convictions or outstanding warrants for Hackett in Georgia. For kicks, Julian tried Alaska. Nothing showed up there, either.

He found his dad out back weeding. “Pop, can you take another day off? I’d like to do your route in reverse so I hit Hackett’s about the time he gets home from work. One of his sons told me he probably fixes motorcycles. I might be able to start a conversation. So far, though, they seem fine. One of the neighbors told me the girl, Leah, has asthma. That could explain her staying indoors. Or maybe the parents are worried about stranger abductions. Some folks are these days. Or couldn’t they just be antisocial?”

“I suppose.” Sam removed his gardening gloves and walked back to the house with his son. Julian handed back the missing-children card. “Thanks for digging in, son, and for finding out Hackett’s not wanted by the law.”

“No problem. I put out discreet feelers on the mom of the missing girl through a P. I. contact who can access background info on anyone. That report will take a day or so, provided she hasn’t left Alaska. By the way, I’m having dinner with Josh and Dawn tonight. Will you tell Mom? And remind her she doesn’t need to set me up with the woman from her cooking club tomorrow night, either.”

Sam gave a robust laugh. “I told Beth that gal doesn’t have enough spunk for you, son. But your mom’s not gonna rest until you’ve found a wife.”

“Then she won’t rest for a long time.”

His dad’s laughter was slow to die. “What’s that mean? You saying you’ve been in one of those closets?”

That was about the last remark Julian expected from his dad, and it took him aback. Finally, he was able to laugh. “No, Pop. I like women just fine. I’m picky, that’s all. I’m holding out for someone like Mom.”

“That’ll take a lot of looking. Your mother is one in a million. Oh, I know she gets upset with me. But she’s a peach. And I’m a damn lucky man.”

“Yep, but Mom’s worried you’re mistaken about the Hackett girl. Another reprimand could lose you your pension. Is that the way to repay Mom’s love and loyalty?”

“Well, now. Why not just come right out and call me a doddering buttinsky?”

“It’s not that, Pop. I want you to think about the risks and proceed with caution.”

“I am. I haven’t called the FBI or the missing kids hotline.”

“Good. I’ve got two weeks off. My time is yours on this. The girl on the card, Sophie Patton…she’s been missing over a year. Trails go cold. Just…don’t get antsy.”

“As long as they don’t look like they’re packing up. School’s out soon. The NCMEC folks told me last time that people running with stolen kids don’t usually stay in one spot longer than a school year. I asked Hackett once why his daughter wasn’t in school with her brothers. He said at least three times in the space of a minute that she’s only four. She looks older to me.”

“When’s school out?”

“Two weeks.”

THE NEXT DAY Julian felt even more pressure to turn up something useful on Lee Hackett. Both of his brothers and their wives had expressed their concern about his father’s meddling at dinner the previous evening. Tag and Raine had declared Sam was nuts. Josh and Dawn asked Julian to put a stop to what they were sure spelled disaster. And the four of them were dead certain he was way off base.

Julian ended his deliveries at the Hacketts’. They had a package with their bundle of mail, a box addressed to Toby Roberts. The return address was a Mrs. Leland Carter of Macks Creek, Missouri. Toby, Julian recalled, had been friendly, the boy who said Lee Hackett wasn’t his and Gavin’s real dad.

Julian could’ve squished the package into the mailbox, but decided to take the opportunity to knock on the door. This afternoon it was evident there were children playing in the backyard. Julian heard a ball bounce on cement. He rang the doorbell and caught a glimpse of the blond girl as she swept back the curtain, then scampered out of sight.

A few seconds passed. Suddenly Gavin opened the door. He snatched the package and slammed the door in Julian’s face just as Lee Hackett turned in to the driveway. The man parked in the garage, leaped from his van and eyed Julian warily. “Whatcha want?”

“Just delivering a package that was too big for your mailbox.” Julian walked down the steps, repeating the lie about his dad’s twisted knee.

Hackett’s dark eyes flashed to Julian’s bike. “Great Ducati Monster,” he exclaimed.

Happy his strategy was working, Julian rattled off its stats. Hackett followed Julian to the street and knelt beside the bike, running a work-worn hand over the chrome exhaust. The man knew his motorcycles, Julian decided by the time Hackett excused himself to return to his house.

Julian was fastening his helmet strap when the side door of the house flew open and the blond girl launched herself into Hackett’s arms. Caught off guard, Julian fumbled for his phone. He managed to snap a few shots, hoping that at least one would be good. He took one last picture as Hackett picked up the girl and swung her up and around like an airplane. Hackett grinned at his daughter and tossed Julian a quick wave before going into the house. He looked like any dad happy to be home with his kids after a hard day’s work.

Julian could barely contain his excitement as he rode to his folks’ house to download his pictures. When he finally made it, Julian wanted to rip them out of the printer. “Pop, come here,” he called, setting the first photo on the desk. “Does this girl look like she’s being held against her will?” There was pure joy in the child’s wide smile and in the way she clasped her dad’s face between her hands.

Sam came in from the living room, and had to agree with his son’s assessment. “Yeah. But wouldn’t that be the case if he’s a noncustodial parent? And it doesn’t make him less guilty of a crime. Son, I swear I’d rip this card up if I could be sure that girl isn’t Sophie Patton. Imagine if you were her mom. Hell, what if your mother and I had divorced and the court gave you to her, but I waltzed in and whisked you away? Wouldn’t she be sick about it?”

Julian slid the pictures into a file folder he’d started on Hackett. “Mom would go after you with a shotgun.” They shared a chuckle before Julian sobered. “My inquiry on Sophie’s custodial parent came in from Doug, my P. I. contact. Her mother, Garnet, teaches English at an Anchorage high school. Has for more than five years.”

“Doesn’t prove anything. Maybe she can’t afford to chase after her girl.”

“Hmm. You know, I met a cop from Anchorage a few years back at a domestic violence seminar. Larry Adams. We hit it off,’ cause we’re both outdoor types. He said Alaska has great fishing. Maybe I’ll phone him…see what he can tell me about the old case.”

Beth Cavenaugh walked in on the men and heard her son’s last comment. “Won’t another police officer wonder why you’re asking questions, Julian? Perhaps you ought to fly up there to fish, and poke around by yourself.”

“It’s way out of my jurisdiction. But I’ll see what I can do. Pop, would you promise to let this go until I get back?”

“I’ll do you one better. I’ll pay for your flight if your mom can find a reasonable fare.”

THE NEXT DAY, Julian flew over some incredible terrain he wished he could explore on his bike. The landscape was dotted with sparkling lakes and rivers. When the plane landed, Julian picked up a few brochures at the airport, almost forgetting this was more than a fishing trip.

He rented a Jeep and loaded his duffel and a case with his rod and reel. Before he’d left Georgia, he’d phoned Larry Adams, who offered his spare bedroom, but also said he was working odd hours undercover. Julian didn’t mind at all—it gave him reason to find a motel near Garnet Patton’s school. Being on his own also meant he had freedom to snoop. The men had agreed to meet whenever Larry found time to hoist a beer and shoot a little pool.

Julian had done some checking before leaving Georgia and had learned that the school where Ms. Patton taught was in session from August to mid-May. He’d have to work fast. He had no idea how the woman spent her summers. Maybe she taught summer school. But there was every possibility she’d leave Anchorage. He would if his kid had been stolen. He’d be combing the country every chance he got.

As a detective, Julian had played many roles. One of the more effective was posing as a reporter. He checked in to his motel, dug out a battered black notebook and drove to the school. The motel clerk had told him school let out at three.

He got there a little after and found a mass exodus of kids and cars leaving the fenced lot. “Hey,” he called to several young men horsing around outside the front gate. “If a guy wanted to write an article on some of the more interesting teachers in your school, who might you suggest?”

“Whaddya mean by interesting?” asked the boy closest to Julian.

Julian opened his notebook. “I’m thinking along the lines of a human-interest story. Any of your teachers have stuff going on in their lives that would play to reader sympathy?”

The boys bandied about names, then settled on two—Mrs. Morrison and Ms. Patton. Bingo!

“You could go to the office and see one of the school secretaries if you want to talk to them. Mrs. Morrison, our science teacher, her husband got mauled real bad by a bear. It’s been all over the paper for weeks. Haven’t you seen it? He’s probably gonna die. Mrs. Morrison’s got a leave of absence.”

Julian whistled sympathetically. “I agree, her story’s probably been done enough. What’s with… Ms. Patton, isn’t that the other name you gave me?”

The boy, clearly the leader of the group, pointed behind Julian. “There she goes now to her car. And there’s Ms. Cox, one of the secretaries. You can probably catch her. Ms. Patton’s real sad because her stupid ex-husband snatched their kid a year or so ago. Their pictures were plastered all over town. Cops questioned everybody, but poof…the kid and her dad were gone.”

Julian’s gaze tracked the woman to an old Toyota. She was a surprise. Model-thin, she wore a conservative navy suit. Her longer-than-shoulder-length blond hair was combed back from a pale, oval face and clipped smoothly at her nape.

She stopped and checked all around before unlocking her car. Apparently satisfied no danger lurked nearby, she tossed her purse and bulging briefcase onto the passenger seat, then slid in the driver’s side.

Murmuring his thanks to the helpful teens, Julian went in search of the secretary, Ms. Cox, even as Ms. Patton started her engine and drove off. He intercepted the secretary before she could leave the school grounds. Julian fed her the reporter story, and turned on the charm as he asked her about doing a feature on her colleague.

“You should probably talk to Garnet. I know she thinks no one cares about her case anymore. But at the same time, the publicity brought her a lot of unwanted attention. You know, from crazies.”

Julian scribbled in his book while pumping the woman about the abduction. “They were always an odd couple,” she ventured. “Dale changed after he lost his job on the pipeline. He put on weight and let his hair get bushy. He also grew a scruffy beard and mustache. I heard he hung out with bikers. Oh, I probably shouldn’t have said that. You won’t print that, will you?” She looked worriedly up through her lashes.

Julian found the mention of bikers very interesting. He wanted to probe deeper, but the secretary began nervously edging away. He thanked her for her help, his mind stuck on Lee Hackett. Except for the biker connection, the two men didn’t seem alike. Hackett wasn’t a big man. “Don’t worry. I’ll consider our conversation off the record,” he said with another disarming smile.

“Good. You really should talk to Garnet. Or her teacher friends. They’re all in the hectic final days of classes. Oh, but earlier today I heard some of them planning to go to happy hour Friday at the Silver Springs Lounge. To celebrate turning in their grades. Garnet said she might go.”

Julian tucked his notebook in his pocket. He wasn’t at all sure he wanted to confront Garnet Patton. But just in case, he drove past the Silver Springs Lounge on his way back to the motel. It was an upscale establishment, and dark enough inside to allow for anonymous observations.

Eager to try out one of the local streams, Julian thought he’d get up early and fish Thursday morning. And maybe he’d spend the afternoon talking with Ms. Patton’s neighbors. Maybe he wouldn’t need a face-to-face meeting. Although he was curious to see how a woman with a missing daughter handled a night out on the town. Somehow, Julian didn’t think too highly of the mother of a missing daughter who went about her life as if everything was status quo.

CHAPTER TWO

JULIAN RELAXED BY a lazy river. Before the morning mist evaporated he’d caught two rainbow trout. Beauties he was sorry to release. Hungry for fish, he stopped for a burger instead at a biker bar he passed on his way back to the motel. Inside, he struck up conversation with a cold-eyed bruiser seated at the counter. “Julian Cavenaugh, North Alaska Tribune,” he said, inventing a paper. “I’m considering a follow-up on the Dale Patton story. Ever heard of him?”

“Yeah. But why would anyone want to stir that up again?”

Julian bit into his burger and licked the juice that trickled down his thumb. “I’m curious how Patton managed to slip away, even though there must’ve been posters and stuff all over the state.”

“So Dale’s slippery. End of story. Find a new one, pal.” Several tough guys in the room laughed. The bruiser took a last slug from his beer, tossed money on the counter, hitched up his pants and left. At least five others followed him out.

Hearing the roar of bike engines from out front, Julian tried asking his waitress, but she didn’t know Patton. She attempted to flirt, but Julian wasn’t interested. He left his burger, paid his bill and returned to the motel to shower and change. He decided to try his luck with Garnet Patton’s neighbors.

The first woman who answered his knock was treated to Julian’s best smile. The fact that he petted the woman’s fussy dog won him an audience with Anna Winkleman, senior citizen. “I’m writing a follow-up story on the missing Patton child,” Julian fibbed after introducing himself and showing her his false credentials.

“No doubt you’ve given accounts in the past, but I wondered if you’d mind talking about it again.”

“Mercy, I’m grateful her case hasn’t been forgotten. Poor Garnet’s exhausted herself and spent every cent she doesn’t absolutely need to live on, trying to find her precious baby. She’s so discouraged. Is it possible to find Sophie after so long?”

Still petting the pooch, Julian considered how to answer. “Anything is possible,” he finally said. “Mrs. Winkleman, how well did you know Dale Patton? Is he the type who could’ve hurt his daughter to spite his ex? She did file for the divorce, correct?”

“She did. But Garnet moved here after the kidnapping. I never met Dale. All I really know about him is hearsay. Rumor is that he got in with a bunch of no-good bikers who drank and caroused. Other people say he took Sophie on his motorcycle when she was a toddler. He bought her a helmet, but still…I say Garnet did the right thing divorcing him.”

“Was his taking their daughter for bike rides a big reason for the divorce?”

Anna looked blank. “I’m not sure. I believe it had some bearing on her seeking sole custody. But who can blame her? She said that about a month before she petitioned family court for sole custody, one of Dale’s biker friends was struck and killed by a logging truck. It was obviously not appropriate for a child to be on one of those things. Then, a few days after the judge’s ruling, before Garnet was able to get copies of the new court order to the school, Dale showed up at the preschool on his motorcycle and took off with Sophie.”

Julian jotted notes in his book. “Thanks, you’ve been very helpful. I’d like to talk to some of Ms. Patton’s other friends. Can you suggest anyone?”

“Her friends in this building, you mean? Well, there’s Hazel Webber downstairs, and John Carlyle, who lives next door to Garnet. However, I saw John leave to walk his dog. He has a rat terrier he takes up the street to the park. He’ll probably be at a picnic table playing checkers with his cronies.”

Giving Anna’s dog a last pat, Julian went downstairs to find the Webber unit. He hit a roadblock with the white-haired matron who opened the door. She gazed haughtily down her nose at him. “I don’t talk to nosy strangers, young man,” she said before slamming her door.

Julian crossed her off his list and left in search of Mr. Carlyle and his rat terrier. He found them two blocks from the complex. Julian stopped, mumbled his name and said, “I hope, sir, that you won at checkers.” He dived straight into his request for information on Garnet, hastily adding that Anna Winkleman had steered him this way.

“That busybody. Why can’t you get what you need from your paper’s archives? Ah, because you’re no reporter. Sonny, I’d say you look more like a cop.” Squinting, the old fellow studied Julian carefully. “Yes or no?”

Embarrassed at being found by the perceptive old man, Julian winced. Quickly, he showed him his badge, careful to explain that his role was strictly unofficial. “I’m just a cop who hates cold cases,” he said, feeling guilty nevertheless. “Sometimes a fresh take on old information can lead to apprehensions,” he added. That was true, and so was his next comment. “Some people feel intimidated by cops and are more comfortable talking to reporters.”

“Huh, well, some cops lack basic people skills. Not saying that applies to you, young fella. Now, I never met Dale Patton, Garnet moved in next to me after the kidnapping. But my checkers partner knew him. He swears Dale loved that baby, too. Swede, that’s my checkers buddy, lives on the other side of the park where the Pattons used to live. According to him, Dale felt shut out by Garnet’s friends. They didn’t think he was good enough for her. Swede said Dale dropped out of high school and came here from Washington State to work on the pipeline. A lot of young men did. When the jobs petered out, most went home. That’s not easy for a married man, especially if his wife has a good job. Mind you, Swede’s never said Garnet and Dale fought over who brought in the bread. But I figure it’d be a sore subject, particularly if you add it to criticism by a wife’s friends.”

As they meandered back to the apartments, Julian drew some conclusions of his own. He thanked John, then left him with his terrier at the entrance. Once in his Jeep, Julian studied the new data on Patton. It fit his observations of Lee Hackett.

Julian’s stomach tightened. Was his dad right this time? One stepson had said that Hackett once owned a motorcycle. Evidence pointed to Patton hanging with a biker crowd. The only fly in the ointment, so to speak, was that the school secretary’s physical description of Dale Patton in no way matched Lee Hackett.

Even so, Julian wasn’t ready to pack it in and go home. Instead, he made a second trip to the high school. This time he managed to bump into a pair of teachers who exited the building with Ms. Patton. He approached the two women after they left Garnet at her car, and they were plainly curious about him. The younger teacher, who introduced herself as Jenny Hoffman, immediately acted coy with Julian. The second woman gave her name as Molly Eberhart, but neither seemed eager to talk to him about Garnet other than to defend her.

“Any man who’d steal a child from her mother is a creep. I never liked him,” Jenny said scraping back her long hair. “Garnet’s so far out of his league. The mystery is why she married him in the first place. Tracy Williams and I were right to voice our objections to him at the custody hearing. Look what he did.”

“He had more decency than you and Tracy gave him credit for,” Molly ventured.

“So he phoned the preschool and told the secretary Sophie was okay. He still waited two days and notice he phoned before the police tapped the line.”

Molly tsked. “Jenny, that call kept Garnet from falling apart. I think she wishes she’d never asked for sole custody.”

“You haven’t seen Garnet cry her eyes out. She’ll never be her old self until Sophie’s back safe and Dale’s behind bars.”

Julian listened to the women sparring. He finally excused himself. “Ladies, I appreciate your insight. I guess I need to go read all the old articles,” he said, carefully keeping the reporter persona intact.

Jenny caught up with him as he approached his Jeep. “You can verify everything I said with Garnet. Sorry I didn’t think to mention it earlier, but a small group of us are going to the Silver Springs lounge to celebrate the end of school. I’ll introduce you two. Just remember, I saw you first.”

“All I’m after are some unbiased opinions.”

“Huh, you won’t find any friend of Garnet’s with an unbiased opinion.”

Julian offered a smile as he climbed into in his Jeep. He had, in fact, found two unbiased opinions. One belonged to Molly Eberhart, the other to John Carlyle. Tossing off a wave, Julian pulled out of his parking space. He spent the next hour at the library poring over old records. The story had been front-page news for months, then, as was typical, it tapered to nothing when leads fell off.

Julian shut down his laptop and thanked the archive specialist. He dropped his stuff at the motel. Then, because Larry Adams had left a message to meet him at a nearby pub, Julian dashed out again.

Lingering in the doorway of the smoky, noisy bar, Julian let his eyes adjust while trying to pinpoint the cop he’d met only twice before.

Larry recognized him, came over and slapped him on the shoulder.

“Wow, I’d never have known you if I’d bumped into you on the street,” Julian said.

“That’s the point of an undercover disguise,” Larry said, leading Julian to a booth at the back of the pub where two beers sat in sweaty mugs. He slid in first, and Julian took the opposite bench. “What’s up in Atlanta? Are they fresh out of crime? With your workaholic reputation, I never expected you to make it to my neck of the woods.”

Taking a swig of cold beer, Julian shrugged. “It’s my reward for finally nailing a sleazebag who terrorized women in one of our burbs for over four months.” He went on to describe the case in more detail.

Larry spun his mug, staring at the wet rings it left on the tabletop. “I’m glad I work Narc now. I had to get out of Violent Crimes. How’d you keep from plugging a guy like that and claiming he tried to escape? We had one recently who walked on a technicality.”

“It happens. My partner’s a twenty-year man who lost his oldest daughter to a repeat offender. He and I go the extra mile to make sure our collars are by-the-book so our evidence holds up.”

“That’s good. Alaska courts have been known to accept that our citizens are entitled to a wild and woolly lifestyle. Or maybe we attract more than our share of renegades and malcontents.” The topic trailed off as Larry perused a worn menu.

As Julian picked up his own, he considered asking Larry if he knew anything about the Patton kidnapping. It’d help to get a professional opinion on whether Dale Patton was one of the malcontents or renegades. But he’d already risked too much nosing into a case that wasn’t his. And unless his father’s hunch was correct, the case would never be under his jurisdiction. Taking another slug of beer, Julian decided against involving a casual friend.

ALTHOUGH SHE’D NEVER stopped grieving the loss of her missing child, Garnet Patton didn’t live in a fog. She’d seen the good-looking, dark-haired stranger hanging around outside her school. Strangers on campus often meant drug deals. Yesterday, when she saw him speak to some of her better students, her antennae had shot up. She hadn’t seen anything change hands and he hadn’t stuck around, so she felt all right about driving away. In class today she’d asked the students. They said the guy was a reporter.

She was surprised to hear from neighbors that a similar man had questioned them about her. Anna Winkleman from across the hall also said he was a reporter. He’d gotten nowhere with Hazel Webber.

So, who was he and what was really going on? It was definitely strange, but at least no one found him threatening. Which was why she didn’t totally freak out when her best friend, Jenny Hoffman, phoned and announced that very same guy had returned to campus and questioned her and Molly Eberhart. “I think it’s funny he hasn’t talked to you, Garnet. He said he’s a reporter, but Molly thinks he’s a cop or maybe FBI. That’s pure speculation, though.”

A ripple of hope ran through Garnet, which she quickly reined in. “Why do you suppose he didn’t come to me instead of poking about? If someone new has been assigned to Sophie’s case I would’ve expected Sergeant Savage to tell me.”

“Gary Savage is an arrogant SOB, Garnet. It would kill him to share a case.”

Garnet was used to Jenny’s dismissing the sergeant. “Hmm. And why would the department let a new man go over old ground?”

“The new guy is so hot, whoever he is. Very yummy! By the way, I invited him to come by the Silver Springs tomorrow after school.”

Garnet’s heart sped up. “He’s coming?”

“He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no, either. I’m giving fair warning. If he shows up I have dibs on him.”

“Jenny! If he’s reopening my case, don’t distract him. Oh, but…I’m getting way ahead of myself. Could they have a lead on Dale? Gary told me months ago that all the tips had dried up. I wonder…”

“Don’t. Guessing doesn’t get you anywhere. Isn’t that what we tell our students? I’d hate to see you get your hopes up, Garnet. What if he really is a reporter?”

“I can’t help myself. Sophie should start first grade in September. From the day she was born I imagined how we’d mark each milestone in her life. Like starting school, going on her first date, graduating and…” Garnet’s voice broke.

“Don’t torture yourself, Garnet. Anyway, I have to go—I’ve got a date in fifteen minutes with Steve the Stud.”

“On a school night?” Garnet dragged her thoughts back to her friend. “Are you and Steve getting serious?”

“Are you kidding? I can’t get serious about a man whose ego is bigger than his IQ. And before you say Jenny in that shocked tone, let me say Steve knows the score. I love having a man around. That’s why I hit on the new guy. Would you believe it, Garnet? Neither Molly nor I got his name. Mr. Yummy has that lean, hungry look that appeals to my baser instincts. I suppose it’s too much to hope he’s more intelligent than most of the men we meet.”

“Jenny, you are so bad. Steve’s no dummy. If you’re going to date him, you should give him a little respect. It takes skill to be a good plumber.”

“Mama and Daddy wouldn’t let him past their front door.” Jenny sighed.

“If you’d wanted to live by their standards, you’d still be in Chicago. You can’t please them and yourself, Jenny. I came to Alaska for the same reasons. Isn’t it time you stopped spinning at the end of their rope?”

“Oh, right, like I’d want the heartache marrying Dale Patton brought you. I’ll romp with bad boys, but when I marry someone, he’ll have read something other than the Sunday comics, and he’ll know which fork to pick up first at a banquet.”

The hum of the dial tone told Garnet Jenny had hung up in a huff. They’d met in college. Garnet’s dad was a self-absorbed astronomer, Jenny’s father, the president of an elite private school. Both sets of parents were livid when their daughters went off to Alaska, a state many Easterners still thought was uncivilized.

Garnet’s family hadn’t spoken to her since she’d announced her intent to marry Dale, who’d worked on the pipeline then. They’d had a couple of good years, but Garnet had to admit that the man she’d fallen in love with had changed drastically after he lost his job. Her friends believed their arguments were all about Dale’s newfound biker buds. But Garnet didn’t object to his motorcycle. There was a time she’d loved riding on his bike. She’d thought Dale’s pirate looks added to his charm. Under the tough veneer was a soft-spoken gentleman, until suddenly he seemed to do a one-eighty turn. Certainly he’d been upset over losing his job; he hated not being the family provider. Add that to her friends’ attitude. Looking back, she accepted that the divorce had been partly her fault. Still, the last thing Garnet expected from the man she’d loved, shared her innermost feelings—and a child—with, was that he’d deal her the most hurtful blow a mother could ever experience.

She realized she was still clutching the phone. She dialed Sergeant Savage from memory. A dispatcher answered. “This is Garnet Patton. Could I speak to Gary Savage please?”

There was a brief pause before Sergeant Savage came on.

Garnet plunged straight into the reason for her call. When she’d finished, the silence went on so long she thought the connection had broken. As she was about to hang up and redial, Savage cleared his throat. “Sorry, Garnet, you took me by surprise. We haven’t hired any new officers, nor have we had any new tips on Dale. I know school’s nearly out. May I suggest using your break to get out of Anchorage? Leave a number where I can reach you and I’ll be in touch if anything comes up. I’ll reiterate what I said before. I have the necessary controls in place. I believe we’ll find Sophie. Dale will get careless, or he’ll be arrested for something else and his prints will crop up in a database. Just be patient, my dear.”

Garnet impatiently waited for Sergeant Savage to finish his spiel. “If this guy isn’t from your department, who is he? My students think he’s a reporter. Other people say he has cop written all over him.”

“We’ve talked about how there’ll be people coming out of the woodwork in cases like yours. Some have a mean streak, and some believe they’ll be able to do what cops haven’t. Then there are psychics who set out to either test their so-called powers or wait in the wings until the victims get desperate enough to hire them. Tell you what, Garnet, I’ll put out feelers around town. But I’m betting this joker falls into one of those categories. Can you give me a description?”

She offered one to the best of her memory, and heard the scratch of Gary’s pen.

“Be careful, Garnet. A few of these jerks are pure nuts. Rest assured, if anything new turns up I’ll let you know. If you set eyes on this imposter again, phone dispatch. I’ll leave a standing order to bring him in.”

Garnet hung up, more discouraged than ever. She knew there were people who preyed on the misfortunes of others. The fact remained—there’d been nothing alarming about the man she’d glimpsed at school. Anna Winkleman used the word charming to describe him. And Jenny…but Jenny had different criteria.

It might be a mistake, but Garnet decided if she saw the stranger again she’d have a word with him before phoning dispatch.

Her nerves had frayed and she found it difficult to concentrate on doing the math necessary to average final grades. Maybe a walk would clear her head. She shrugged into a sweater coat to block the chill in the air, and left her apartment.

John Carlyle stepped into the hallway as Garnet pocketed her key. “Hello, Garnet. Going out? I’m taking Hoover for his nightly walk.”

The rotund little terrier was so named because he inhaled any scrap of food that landed on the floor. Hoover loved people and had a particular fondness for Garnet, who gave him nutritious doggie treats. She felt in her pocket and came up with a couple of small lint-covered dog biscuits. “Mind if I tag along?” she asked.

“We’d be pleased. Mr. Hoover thanks you for his treats. Is something wrong with your car? You don’t usually go walking.”

After rubbing the wriggling animal’s backside, Garnet straightened and led the way to the stairs. “Sophie used to love going on walks, John. I tend to avoid the activities we did together.”

“Understandable.”

She heaved a sigh. “Not everyone agrees. I just spoke with the officer heading up my case. He’s adamant about me getting on with my life.” She stepped aside at the main door and let the courtly old gentleman open the door for her.

“Oh. So that bright young fellow I met today—the new cop on your case—he didn’t find anything new?”

Garnet stopped. “You saw him? I thought Anna Winkleman and Hazel Webber were the only ones home when he came by. Anna said you’d taken Hoover to the park. John, what did that man say? Did he give his name? You see, Sergeant Savage said there was no new cop on my case.”

“Really?” Tugging back on Hoover’s leash, Mr. Carlyle stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I’m sure he told me his name. His badge certainly looked legit.” The old man’s face fell. “My hearing’s not what it used to be, Garnet. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch everything he said. His name was…Irish, maybe? Should I not have talked to him?”

She walked on, shortening her stride to match his. “Truthfully, John, I suppose he’s a curiosity seeker at best and at worst, who knows? A con man, probably. In the morning I’ll give you a number you can call if he comes around again. Savage said they’d take him in and find out what he’s up to.” She paused while Hoover sniffed a hydrant.

“I’ve always had a good radar for crooks. This fellow, whatever he is, he’s pretty convincing. I s’pose you’re teaching summer school again? I know you need the money and want to keep busy, but I hate seeing you so thin. You’re practically skin and bones.”

Her low chuckle had a catch at the end. “Actually, I’m not teaching this summer. I don’t know what I’ll do, John. I do need to fill every hour of the day but I’m burning out emotionally. I won’t be any good to next year’s students unless I back off for awhile. I hear pulling fishnets is a physically demanding job. It might be the distraction I need. Maybe I’ll drive down to Ketchikan and see if I can sign on with a salmon vessel.”

“Huh, I’d think twice about that. I spent a couple of summers during my college days on a crab boat. A stinkier, dirtier job only exists if you get stuck in one of the canneries. Darlene’s Café has a sign in the window for a waitress. I’m there at least once a week. Never been in the place that every seat isn’t taken. Wouldn’t pay what teaching does, or fishing, but it’d be a change of pace and safer than going to sea with a rough-and-tumble fishing crew.”

“Thanks for the tip. I’ll consider it. Maybe I’ll go by this weekend and talk to Darlene. Teaching ends this week. The kids are out tomorrow, but we have three days to clean up.”

John looked pleased that he could help. Then, as darkness fell and a misty drizzle started, they turned back, picking up their pace.

Garnet studied the cars that passed, and she took a longer look at those parked near the apartment complex.

John noticed. “You expecting a visitor tonight?”

“No. It’s nothing. I’m sure this stranger doesn’t know anything. Yet it’s been ages since our law enforcement has received a tip no matter how slim, I guess I held out hope. Silly, I know.”

Mr. Carlyle picked up his dog and opened the front door. “Not silly at all. So, for the next few days at least, if you want to walk after dark, call me. Not to scare you or anything.”

She gave an involuntary shudder. “The teachers have planned an after-school happy hour tomorrow at the Silver Springs Lounge. I didn’t commit, but Jenny Hoffman—you know her—told me she met the stranger and invited him to join us for drinks.”

John caught Garnet’s elbow. “Maybe you shouldn’t go. Whatever you do, don’t let him separate you from your friends. The lounge has a doorman. If you feel threatened, ask him to escort you to your car.”

“This is dumb.” She tossed her head, as though shaking off her anxiety. “I’ll be fine. I really doubt anyone wanting to hurt me would show his face in such a public venue. Frankly, the guy probably got his kicks and is long gone. Good night, John. Thanks for caring. I’ll be fine.”

ALL THE NEXT DAY, Garnet periodically glanced out her classroom window. At lunch, she sat on the front steps, all but daring the man in the Jeep to appear. No rust-red Jeep materialized any time that afternoon, either.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the school day—and the year. Students streamed into Garnet’s room to say their final goodbyes. At four o’clock, Jenny stuck her head in the room.

“What did you decide about happy hour? I’m riding with Wendy and Susan. You want to hitch? Wendy can drop you off back here to pick up your car.”

“No, thanks. I’ll drive on my own. I have a couple of things to tidy up here. Order me a Cosmopolitan, will you?”

“Oooh, you’re going whole hog. I think I’ll get one, too.”

Twenty minutes later, Garnet scanned the street between the school and her car. Still no Jeep. Nor was one parked near the lounge. She got lucky and found a parking place right outside the front door.

The last to arrive, Garnet slipped onto a stool Jenny had saved. The friends laughed, joked, toasted each other, and helped themselves to a variety of hors d’ oeuvres. A few teachers left, but Garnet had ordered a second drink when Jenny slid off her stool to leave with Wendy. “I’m seriously bummed,” she said. “The hottie’s a no-show. Come on, Garnet, we’ll walk you to your car.”

Garnet waved them away. “I’m parked right next to the door. I’ll be fine, Jenny. Considering what I paid for this drink I’m not wasting a drop. I think I’ll find a booth and order some dinner. I’ll see you Monday. We need to talk about what we’re going to do over the summer break.” Standing, Garnet hugged all three friends. The trio walked out and Garnet signaled a waiter to request a booth. He carried her drink, put it down and said, “I’ll bring you a menu.”

“No need. I’ll just have a chicken Caesar salad.”

The waiter turned away. Garnet started to sit, but felt as if she were being watched. Not uncommon. The lounge was a popular hangout.

A quick glance around the room, though, and she froze. A man who must’ve just entered was indeed staring at her. It was the stranger who’d been asking questions at school and her apartment complex. Garnet’s cheeks heated as he blatantly slid a sleepy-lidded gaze from her head to her toes and back again.

SOMEHOW, once Julian saw Jenny and the other women leave, he didn’t expect to find Garnet Patton inside. When he did spot her, he didn’t think she’d recognize him. But the instant their eyes met and he watched her square her slim shoulders and narrow her eyes, Julian knew he’d been made. He considered ducking out, although perhaps it was time to discover if her ex-husband might have a reason to be setting up housekeeping in Georgia.

Besides, from the set of her jaw as she marched toward him, she plainly had questions of her own, and she intended to get answers.

CHAPTER THREE

“WHO ARE YOU?” Garnet demanded, nervously tugging down the sleeves of her sweater. “Why are you asking questions about me?”

Julian started to hedge his answer. But the lightbulbs around the bar mirror highlighted the fragile shadows under her eyes, indicating she was far more vulnerable than the rigid set of her spine suggested.

“I’m Julian Cavenaugh. I’m a detective from Atlanta,” he explained, noting her deepening frown. At this point, Julian was hoping to see a spark of recognition, something to indicate she’d heard of the area. Nothing was forthcoming. Instead, she shook her head, loosening strands of pale hair from a silver clip at her neck.

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand.”

And Julian could see she didn’t. “Please, won’t you sit down? I’ll try to explain. As well, I think your waiter lost you. The poor guy’s looking confused. I’d hate to be responsible for him taking your dinner back to the kitchen.”

His soft drawl and winsome smile caused Garnet to look back at her booth. Giving an ever-so slight nod, she made her way through the crowded room to her table. She apologized to her waiter.

“I saw your jacket was still here,” he said, beaming. “Is there anything else I can get you, miss?” He set her salad down and shook open a snowy linen napkin. Then he apparently noticed Julian hovering to his left.

Garnet sat and reluctantly motioned to the opposite seat. “Please bring the gentleman a menu.” She eyed her drink, then pushed the glass aside, and said, “I’d like coffee, please. Black.”

“I’ll take a dark ale. Whatever’s on tap.” Julian closed the menu. “I’d like your best steak with whatever fixings it comes with.” Offering Garnet another smile, he added, “Can I talk you into ordering something more substantial than rabbit food and high-octane caffeine? I promise I don’t mean you any harm. I haven’t bitten anyone since I was three. Suzie Walker from down the street. And she bit me first, and harder.”

Arching an eyebrow, Garnet moved croutons aside with her fork and spread the fresh Parmesan. “My salad is loaded with chicken, which won’t clog my arteries. I’d point out you don’t know anything about me or my habits, good or bad, but that’s not true, is it, Mr. Cavenaugh? You’ve been asking my friends a lot of personal questions.”

“Julian, please.” He had the grace to look embarrassed.

His beer came and they both fell silent a moment. “So, you’re a cop, not a reporter?” Garnet continued to pick at her salad, and Julian fidgeted with his cutlery and the salt and pepper shakers. He showed her his badge, returning it to his jacket pocket distractedly.

As his silence dragged on, Garnet worried that once again she’d pinned her hopes on a stranger who would disappoint her. Long ago, Garnet had vowed she’d risk everything, even meet with the devil himself if it would lead to her daughter’s whereabouts.

Now, as she studied the man seated across from her—his hawkish features and black hair curling stubbornly over his ears—she thought it was entirely possible she’d done exactly that.

“I don’t quite know where to start,” Julian said, tracing a line down the damp glass with his finger.

Garnet set down her fork and clasped her hands to keep them still. “Please, oh, please, if this has anything to do with Sophie just tell me straight out.”

Affected by her ragged voice, Julian looked away and drank from his beer. He dug in his shirt pocket and removed the grainy photograph he’d taken of the little Hackett girl at her front window. The one where he’d caught her in partial profile. He slid the snapshot across the table.

Garnet snatched it up with a strangled cry. Questions poured out one after another. “When, ah, where? How? It’s so unclear. Is this Sophie?”

Trying to tread carefully, Julian leaned forward. “What do you think?”

“Oh, God. I wish I could be sure. This was taken from too far away.” She placed the picture gently on the table. “It’s been over a year. That day, I let her dress herself for preschool. She chose pink cords, a frilly white blouse and bright red sneakers. At lunchtime, my ex-husband arrived at Sophie’s preschool unannounced. He barged past office staff who knew he shouldn’t have access and took her. The last time I saw her was when I dropped her off. In my dreams, she looks exactly as she did then. Realistically, I know she’s changed. She’s probably lost her baby fat.”

Julian said nothing, letting Garnet fill the silence. “Dale—my ex—and I finalized a bitter second custody hearing two days before he kidnapped her. The police think the fact that I was given full custody set him off. Friends said they’d seen Dale drinking excessively. Someone had witnessed him losing his temper.” Tears filled her eyes as she picked up the photo and caressed it with her thumb. “Why would you make the trip from Georgia to Alaska to show me a fuzzy photo? You called yourself a detective. Are you a private detective? Who hired you? Wayne Jenkins is the last P. I. I paid to find Sophie. He stopped his search when I couldn’t scrape together his monthly retainer. Did he approach you for some reason?”

“No. I have nothing to do with Wayne Jenkins.” Pausing to accept his steak and assure the waiter that the meat was cooked to his liking, Julian swallowed a small bite. He needed to tread cautiously. He hadn’t intended to reveal his reason for meddling in her life, but because she’d obviously been hurt in the past, he decided to share a bit more of his background. “I work for the Atlanta PD. But I’m on vacation. The truth is I have absolutely no official status in your case.”

She stared at him from teary eyes.

Julian shifted under her gaze. “Uh, my parents live in a small town about thirty miles outside Atlanta. Pop’s a postman nearing retirement. Part of his job…” Julian hesitated before continuing. “Part of his job is delivering cards that feature pictures of missing children. Pop loves kids, so he takes it very seriously.” Julian sawed off a piece of steak and stabbed it with his fork. He had no idea how fiercely he glared at it until Garnet reached across and tentatively touched his hand.

“The sergeant handling my case contacted the organization that does the postcards. We worked with them and the FBI for several months. I’m told they never close the book on a case until a missing child turns up safely…or dead,” she whispered, punctuating her obvious worry with a sob.

“Stop that,” Julian pleaded. “I’m trying to say my dad has a file box full of those cards. He sees any new families on his route, he keeps an eye open. But here’s the kicker. Once, a long time ago, when my brothers, my sister and I were in school, Pop was sure he’d found a boy on one of those cards. He was dead wrong, and a lot of people got real upset.”

“Are you trying to say that your father saw Sophie’s card and…and thinks the child in this photograph is her?”

Julian heard the hope in her voice, and tried not to encourage it. “What I’m telling you is that Pop was way off the mark the other time he thought he was right. A lot of people in our town, my family included, were adversely affected. I’m older and wiser now, and in a better position to protect him from making another mistake. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Yes, of course.” She made the appropriate response, but Julian could tell she’d grabbed on to the notion and had already let it grow by leaps and bounds.

“Eat,” he ordered, pointing at her virtually untouched salad with his steak knife. Scowling, he dug in to his baked potato and vegetables.

Garnet grabbed her fork and began spearing lettuce like a dutiful child. She even managed to swallow some, despite finding it difficult to remain still.

Her hopefulness kept Julian from bringing out the second photo—the one of a happily smiling Lee Hackett dancing around his garage with his equally joyous daughter. The little girl this lovely woman across from him wanted to be her missing Sophie.

“Before you get too invested in this,” Julian said seriously, “there are other questions that need to be considered. For instance, does your husband, uh, Sophie’s father, have relatives or friends living in the south?”

Her face fell, but she rallied to say coolly, “Dale is my ex-husband, and I’m not aware if he has family outside of Washington, but I’ll call his mother. His parents live in an assisted-living center in Washington State. An older brother farms in the Skagit Valley, also in Washington. What friends he has live here in Anchorage. But I’m the custodial parent and Dale took Sophie against a court order allowing him only supervised visits. If you know where he is, isn’t it your duty as a law officer to arrest him for kidnapping?”

“Yes. If it’s your daughter in the snapshot. That’s a big if.”

For the first time, Garnet realized this man had her at a disadvantage. Other than claiming to have come from Atlanta, Detective Cavenaugh had been very careful to give nothing away. Nothing Garnet could use to track Sophie on her own.

“I officially finish work for the summer next Wednesday,” she said. “I’ll book a flight tomorrow if you’ll tell me where I can see her for myself.” She stared at the photograph, as if willing the picture to sharpen.

“Oh, right,” Julian drawled. “And if it is her, what’s to stop your ex from murdering you and taking off with her again?”

“Dale would never do that.” She lifted her chin defiantly and drilled him with her eyes.

“Excuse me, I thought you told me he had a temper.”

“A… One coworker said she saw him lose it after I petitioned for divorce. I only ever saw moodiness. That started after he was laid off from his job and couldn’t find work. I was pregnant with Sophie at the time.”

“So, you two didn’t fight?”

She fiddled with her knife. “That depends on your definition of fighting. Dale thought we should pack up and go to Washington. Move in with his brother. But he had no job prospects there, so I balked at quitting my teaching job. I have tenure, plus my job provided us with insurance, and we had a baby due.”

Julian finished his potato while contemplating her last statement. “I wish you’d eat,” he said, making it clear he intended to clean his plate. “If this is all you normally eat, you won’t last a day on the hunt. Georgia is three thousand miles from here.”

“Then…you’ll tell me where to find this little girl?”

When Julian didn’t answer immediately, Garnet hurriedly ate what she could. “Now you’ve clammed up. Talk to me,” she begged, knuckles white around her fork. “Tell me everything you know about her, please.”

“That’s not much,” he muttered. “The mother in the household and one of two school-age boys supposedly told a neighbor that their sister suffers from asthma. I wasn’t able to verify that.”

“Sophie was never sick a day in her life. And…there’s a mother?” Garnet held her breath and let it out slowly. “Are you saying Dale has remarried? Did you look for a marriage certificate?”

“You’re jumping to conclusions. First of all, this family isn’t using the name Patton. Second, the boys have yet another last name. They haven’t been in town long.” He picked up his beer. “I did check. There’s no record of this man and woman being issued a marriage license in Georgia. Tell me, does it bother you that your ex might have a new woman? One of your teacher friends said you and he were mismatched and that your marriage was a mistake from the get-go.”

Garnet stared at her plate. “Dale and I met at a housewarming party seven years ago. We were twenty-two. I’m an only child and my parents both had demanding careers that took up a lot of their time. You could say we had a chilly household. One day, shortly after graduation, my college roommate, Jenny, suggested we send résumés to Alaska. I was beyond ready to leave Chicago. I met Dale during that…exploratory phase in my life.”

She balled up her napkin. “He was the antithesis of any man I’d dated before. I can’t deny we shared some good years—before he began saying I was obsessive about wanting a healthy savings account to ensure Sophie’s security.”

Garnet’s tone tightened. “I wonder if he knows I emptied that savings account in six months searching for him. I doubt he’d care that I had to sell the house and move to an efficiency apartment. In the move, I kept Sophie’s favorite toys, but gave her clothes to a local church. Mostly, I couldn’t bear the reminder that at the end of a year she would’ve outgrown everything.”

Julian polished off his beer and waited to see if Garnet would volunteer tidbits that would ring any bells. Apparently, she’d reached her limit. And it bothered him to see the raw emotion in her haunted eyes.

“Did you keep any pictures of your ex-husband?”

“I’m not sure. I threw a lot of stuff away. What about this man in Georgia? Can you describe him?”

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