He closed his eyes and let the memories come…

Memories of last night’s lovemaking. For most of his life he’d focused on his career. Women came and went with the job and the location. No one had ever managed to keep a piece of his heart.

The idea rattled him hard, but it was the truth, the one ideal he’d always clung to. Truth, honor, courage. Those words meant a great deal to him. Honestly, three years ago Melissa hadn’t needed a man like him, nor did she now.

Jonathan had sworn that he would never commit emotionally to anyone after that mission five years ago. He completed his assignments and went home—wherever home was. He made no attachments.

Then he’d met Melissa. Bit by tiny bit, she’d taken a part of him. She’d given of herself completely…and he hadn’t been able to cut it.

He didn’t deserve her forgiveness and he damn sure hadn’t deserved her trust the way she’d given it last night. Hurting her again was the last thing he wanted to do. Maybe, just maybe, if he brought her niece back home safely, he’d earn all that Melissa had given him.

Finding Polly alive might just be impossible. But he had to try. For the child and for Melissa.

Missing
Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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This story is dedicated to the real Melissa and Jonathan.

As you take each other’s hand in marriage, I wish you

the most wonderful storybook ending of all!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Debra Webb wrote her first story at age nine and her first romance at thirteen. It wasn’t until she spent three years working for the military behind the Iron Curtain and within the confining political walls of Berlin, Germany, that she realized her true calling. A five-year stint with NASA on the space shuttle program reinforced her love of the endless possibilities within her grasp as a storyteller. A collision course between suspense and romance was set. Debra has been writing romantic suspense and action-packed romantic thrillers since. Visit her at www.DebraWebb.com or write to her at P.O. Box 4889, Huntsville, AL 35815.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Jonathan Foley —As one of the new Equalizers, Jonathan must help Melissa find her missing niece—but can he do it without losing his wounded heart?

Melissa Shepherd —As a nurse, Melissa attends to the sick and injured every day of her life. But she can’t seem to heal her own heart…the one Jonathan Foley shattered three years ago.

Polly Shepherd —This little girl is missing.

William Shepherd —His child is missing. But did he have anything to do with it?

Harry Shepherd —William and Melissa’s uncle. He will do anything to keep William home from Afghanistan.

Presley Shepherd —She swears she was at home when her daughter was abducted in the middle of the night.

Reed Talbot —He’s the chief of police. It’s his job to find this missing child, not some hotshots from out of town.

Carol Talbot —She lost her only child. Can she survive watching her husband investigate this too-similar tragedy?

Johnny Ray Bruce —He is in competition with William for Presley. He intends to win…even if he has to do it with the nastiest kind of blackmail.

Stevie Price —He went missing the same day as the child. Is he a harmless mentally challenged man or something far more sinister?

Floyd Harper —He is the only witness to Stevie’s alibi.

Scott Rayburn —He’s the town’s rich-boy lawyer. He knows everyone’s secrets.

Slade Keaton —Slade isn’t his real name, but he now owns the Equalizers. But his primary agenda isn’t about the Equalizers at all…he has plans for the Colby Agency.

Victoria Colby-Camp —She has no idea that her world is about to be turned upside down.

Lucas Camp —He will do anything to protect his family.

Contents

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 One

Chicago

Thursday, May 27th, 10:30 pm

There were better ways to die.

But never a good time.

Jonathan Foley wouldn’t have chosen to die in a vacant warehouse with the river lapping at its crumbling foundation. Definitely not while shackled to a cast-off swivel chair beneath the glare of a single bare bulb.

But life stunk that way sometimes.

“Amp it up another notch,” the punk gripping the defibrillator paddles ordered. Then he smiled at his prisoner. “Last chance, tough guy.”

Evidently the trigger-happy lackey was through playing. Foley braced for the electrical charge that would throttle through his chest the instant the paddles touched his naked skin. Nope, there was never a good time to die. But then he had accomplished his mission. This was likely as good a time as any. He lifted his gaze to the nimrod currently holding the power. “We both know I’m not going to talk.”

The jerk laughed, his pale blue eyes glittering with anticipation. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

The one manning the controls gave the appropriate knob a violent twist then checked the readout. “Ready,” he announced.

Jonathan’s jaw clenched and his fingers tightened on the arms of the chair, but he refused to close his eyes. He stared straight at the SOB with the paddles. Refused to allow even a glimmer of fear or defeat. This waste of DNA might kill him but he couldn’t make him cooperate. Better men had tried.

“Stand down.”

The sharply issued order echoed in the stale air of the long-abandoned warehouse, wiped the smile right off the paddle punk’s face.

Foley should have relaxed. After all, he was just a few volts from dead. This unexpected interruption provided a momentary reprieve. He shifted his attention in the direction of the footsteps coming nearer. Not that he needed visual confirmation. He knew the voice.

Victor Lennox.

Tall, distinguished, with just enough gray at the temples to lend an air of wisdom. Even at a time like this—in a place like this—the man sported a three thousand dollar black silk suit. No doubt the leather shoes he wore were handcrafted. Nothing was too good for a Lennox. A similarly dressed underling, briefcase in hand, rushed after him.

Well, well, Foley mused. Would wonders never cease? He’d thought Lennox was long gone by now. Yet, here he was, in the flesh, assistant in tow.

“Sir,” the underling urged, “the Learjet is waiting. There’s no time.”

Lennox held up a hand, cutting off his much younger colleague. “Before you die,” Lennox said to Foley, his gaze narrowed with disdain and fury, “I have one question.”

Foley licked his cracked lips, noted the taste of blood and sweat. “For the past two hours I’ve been beaten—” his ribs ached with each indrawn breath “—shocked with ever increasing amperage and—” he jerked his head toward the punk with the paddles “—I still didn’t talk. What makes you think I have anything to say to you?”

“Let me give it another go,” paddle punk pleaded. “He’ll talk.” He smirked at Foley. “They always do.”

Lennox shook his head firmly from side to side. “Not this one.”

“Sir.” The assistant dared to intrude into the exchange yet again. “You must hurry.”

Lennox ignored him. “I did my research, Foley. I know all about you.” He made a disparaging sound deep in his throat. “And you’re right, you won’t talk.” He crossed his arms over his chest then reached up and tapped his chin with a finger as if mulling over the situation. “I have friends in places you can’t even fathom. I’m aware of your military career, Major Foley.”

One corner of Foley’s mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile. “Then you know it was over a long time ago.” Bits and pieces of images flickered through his brain. He banished the memories.

“You endured days of torture,” Lennox went on as if recalling documents he’d only just recently read. “Never uttered a single word while every member of your reconnaissance team was executed right in front of you.” A hint of respect flashed in the man’s eyes. “Still you remained strong. Loyal to the bitter end. Didn’t let your country down.” He gave another shake of that distinguished head. “No, no. You didn’t talk then. You won’t talk now.”

“Then what’s your point?” Foley looked him dead in the eye. He would have a point. A man who’d just been nailed for treason wasn’t going to hang around for anything without a compelling reason.

“After a few years of doing nothing significant, you joined a firm called the Equalizers,” Lennox explained, as if he had all night and wasn’t the slightest bit worried about the feds who no doubt had already turned Chicago upside down to find him. “Your most recent assignment was to do what no one else had been able to do.”

“That’s right.” Foley had gotten Lennox. Gotten him good. No one else had been able to penetrate the perfect shield he’d built around himself. No one had had a clue that it was the esteemed Victor Lennox who was selling out his own company, his own country. Now his crimes were bared to all. He could run, but he would never again possess the power he had flaunted. Checkmate.

Lennox leaned down, stuck his face in Foley’s. “Who sent you?”

“The head of the Equalizers.”

Rage tightened the features of the man’s face better than the Botox he likely used on a regular basis. “Three people were involved in that aspect of my business,” Lennox hissed. “Only three. Not one of them sold me out.”

Foley shrugged. “I guess you’ll never know for sure.”

“Oh, I already know. You see, every man has his breaking point. Each of the three broke eventually. Like you, they remained loyal until the end. Though I suspect they were motivated by fear rather than anything else. You,” he accused, “already knew coming in what you were after. All you had to do was find concrete evidence.”

Foley stared at him. He wasn’t denying or confirming that assertion.

“It’s not necessary for you to corroborate the statement,” Lennox assured him. “I know.”

“Mr. Lennox,” the well-dressed assistant interrupted again, “we must go. Now.”

Continuing to discount the warning, Lennox demanded, “Tell me who sent you.”

That ghost of a smile materialized fully on Foley’s lips. “I told you. My employer—the head of the Equalizers.”

“A name, Foley,” Lennox pressed. “I want a name.”

Foley could tell him that he didn’t know, because he didn’t. No one did. The man behind the Equalizers was a complete unknown. So Foley did what he did best. He said nothing.

“You’ve won,” Lennox fairly shouted. “I’ve been exposed. I’m on the run. Even I know that it’s only a matter of time before they catch up with me. What difference does it make now? I simply want to know the identity of the man who discovered what no one else could.”

Foley wondered if Lennox had any idea just how much satisfaction his sheer desperation prompted.

“Cut him loose,” Lennox ordered.

“What?” the paddle punk demanded.

“Sir!” the assistant declared, his panic clearly mounting.

“He’s going with us,” Lennox announced. “I will know who sent him.” He stared directly at Foley once more. “Every man has his breaking point. All I need is time to find yours.”

While the assistant argued with Lennox, the punk tossed aside the paddles and reached for the knife lying on the cart next to the controls. He grumbled curses under his breath but followed the order. His cohort passed a handgun to Lennox.

Lennox waved the weapon toward the rear door through which he’d entered. “Let’s go.”

Foley pushed to his feet, the pain radiating through his muscles and settling deep into his bones.

Lennox nudged him in the side with the weapon. “Move,” he commanded.

Foley had taken two steps when a cell phone blasted a familiar tune. He glanced over his shoulder at the phone lying on the table next to the portable defibrillator. His phone. He’d been relieved of his weapon, his wallet and his phone hours ago.

“Check the screen,” Lennox directed.

Foley resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Wouldn’t matter if it was his employer, the name and number would reveal nothing. A trace on the call would divulge the same.

“No name,” paddle punk reported as he scrutinized the screen. “Out of area call.”

A frown attempted to stretch across Foley’s brow but he schooled the expression. His employer’s number usually showed up as a local call. A different number every time.

“Accept the call,” Lennox instructed his torture technician, “and put it on speaker.” He glanced around the room. “Not a word from anyone.”

The creep holding Foley’s cell punched the necessary buttons.

Another waste of time. Foley’s employer wouldn’t leave a voice mail or speak into dead air. Maybe if Lennox wasted enough time, the feds would be waiting for him at whatever airfield where his Learjet waited on standby.

“Hello, Jonathan…”

Emotion exploded in Foley’s chest. Three years…three long years of sleepless nights and pent-up frustration leached into his blood. Haunting snippets of whispered words, the brushing of lips and the hot, smooth feel of bare skin against bare skin rushed into his brain.

It couldn’t be…

“I hope this is your voice mail…” A shaky release of breath sighed across the silence. “Call me, please.” She stumbled through a number. “I…I need your help. Please. It’s a matter of life and death.”

Silence reigned for three beats, then Lennox smiled. “Ah. Perhaps we’ve found the missing piece we need.” Certainty glinted in his eyes.

Foley’s mind churned with emotions. Why would she call him now?

Didn’t matter. He knew her inside and out.

Something was very wrong.

Lennox nudged Foley in the spleen with the weapon. “That sounded exactly like the sort of leverage I need to obtain the answer to my question.”

Ice formed in Foley’s gut. No way was he letting this ruthless monster learn her identity and use her.

“Bring me that cell phone,” Lennox ordered his underling. He reached out in anticipation of having it placed in his palm.

Foley whipped around and in one second had Lennox in a chokehold, the weapon he still gripped aimed at his proud brow. “Don’t ever let yourself be distracted when you’ve got a gun to a man’s back.”

Paddle punk’s cohort dared to reach for his weapon.

“Nobody moves,” Foley warned. He bored the barrel of the nine millimeter into Lennox’s temple.

Both men inched forward, testing the line Foley had drawn.

“Do as he says!” Lennox squeaked around the pressure on his throat.

Smart man. “You,” Foley said to the underling who’d followed Lennox into the warehouse, “call 911 and give our location. Then give me my cell.”

Weapons clattered to the floor as the two thugs who’d tortured Foley raised their hands in surrender. “You got what you want,” the one who’d brandished the paddles said. “You don’t need us.” The two started backing away, most likely toward an exit somewhere beyond the scope of the single bare bulb’s illumination.

“You’re right.” Foley studied the two men. “But you’re walking away from your best chance at cutting a deal,” he warned. “Your prints are all over the place.” He nodded to the tools of the torture trade. “Chances are the police will find you eventually.”

Paddle punk’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of deal?”

Now that was loyalty. “I’m sure the DA will be very interested in any details the two of you can give regarding his—” he tightened his hold on Lennox “—activities. Your cooperation could earn you a very sweet deal.”

Lennox attempted to blubber his own warning. Foley clamped his arm tighter around the bastard’s throat and shot a look at the man who’d trailed in here after him like a puppy. “Make the call,” Foley repeated.

While the assistant in the expensive suit entered the necessary digits, the two thugs dropped to their knees then went face down on the concrete floor.

“You might think you’ve won,” Lennox screeched, “but you and your employer will suffer the consequences.”

“Maybe.” Foley nodded to the guy who’d made the 911 call. “Bring my cell to me,” he ordered a second time, “then join your pals on the floor.”

The younger man glanced at the filthy floor then swallowed hard.

“Now,” Foley prompted.

The man inched close enough to give Foley the phone, then side-stepped in those same small increments back toward his partners in crime. It was almost worth the torture Foley had endured to watch that silk suit kiss the dirt and, during the short minutes before the cops arrived, to listen to Lennox’s offers of excessive amounts of cash for his freedom.

But Foley had one thing on his mind. Her. She’d called. Unbelievable. He hadn’t seen her, hadn’t heard her voice in three years.

I need your help.

Worry throbbed in his skull, flexed in his jaw.

She wouldn’t call him…unless it truly was a matter of life and death.

Fear trickled into his veins.

He had to get to her.

When the cops arrived, Foley gave one of the officers his business card and walked away. He ignored the warning that he wasn’t supposed to leave until the detective in charge of the case arrived.

There wasn’t a force on earth that could prevent him from going.

The cell in his pocket sang its annoying tune.

Foley withdrew it, checked the display in case it was her calling again.

It wasn’t. It was his employer.

Not at all surprised his employer already knew Lennox was down—he seemed hotwired into everywhere with everyone—Foley hit the answer button even as he quickened his pace. “Foley.”

“Outstanding job,” the voice on the other end praised. “I knew you were the right man for this one. File your final report and relax. I’ll contact the office with your next assignment.”

What kind of man could position a player to bring down a man like Lennox? A god in the murky and political world of government contractors.

“Who are you?” Foley had been hired as an Equalizer more than five months ago. He’d heard this voice a dozen times, but he had no idea who the guy was or even what he looked like. Foley and the other two Equalizers currently on staff had done their research, gone to all sorts of lengths to find that answer.

And there was nothing. It was as if the man behind the voice didn’t exist.

“One day you’ll know,” the voice promised. “For now, your payment will be deposited into your bank account today.”

The connection severed.

Foley stalled, stared at the phone a moment. One day he would know? What did that mean? Then he shook off the questions and broke into a sprint.

She needed him.

He shouldn’t care.

Stepping back into her life would be a mistake…for both of them.

But he couldn’t ignore the call.

Not even if he tried.

Chapter Two

Bay Minette, Alabama

Friday, May 28th, 9:15 a.m.

Calling him had been a last resort.

Melissa Shepherd hugged her arms around her middle and stared through the window over the kitchen sink at the drizzling rain. She was desperate.

Or crazy.

She shuddered. Jonathan Foley had disappeared from her life three years ago. The ache, though dull, still swelled deep inside her whenever he came to mind. She shouldn’t have called him. Bay Minette’s entire police force, aided by numerous volunteers from surrounding towns and counties, hadn’t been able to find her niece, so why in the world would she believe he could?

Misery washed over Melissa. Polly had been missing for five days. Five endless days and nights.

Melissa’s brother was scheduled to ship back to Afghanistan on Tuesday, the day after Memorial Day. She shook her head. How could he leave with his three-year-old daughter missing? The military didn’t seem to care.

Closing her eyes, Melissa blew out a heavy breath. That wasn’t fair. It wasn’t that they didn’t care. Her brother, William, was trained in a highly critical MOS—military occupational skill. It was a miracle he’d even gotten this too-short, two-week leave in the first place.

That was the real reason Melissa had called Jonathan. He didn’t like talking about his past career in the military but, from what she’d gathered, during that time he had been connected to extremely high-level people—important people. He could call someone. She was certain of it.

She’d asked him to do that when he’d returned her call in the middle of the night last night. He’d promised to call her back this morning.

So far she hadn’t heard a word.

Melissa opened her eyes and searched the backyard of her childhood home, her heart automatically hoping her gaze would land on sweet little Polly playing there. But the yard was empty. The old rope and wood swing her father had built for her as a child hung empty from the big old pecan tree’s massive branch.

She’d tried. For days Melissa and the rest of the family, along with friends and neighbors, had searched. And nothing. It was as if Polly had vanished into thin air, leaving no trace of the reason for, or the person behind, her disappearance.

Other than the fact that Stevie was missing, too. Melissa shook her head. She couldn’t believe that Stevie would ever harm Polly. He loved her. Stevie Price had suffered immense cruelty and severe trauma as an infant. The physical trauma had resulted in brain damage, leaving him mentally challenged. By the time he was four his self-centered mother had abandoned him. His father had tried to take care of him, but he’d had problems of his own. When Stevie was nineteen his father had died. He’d lived off the kindness of folks in the community ever since. And though he was thirty now, his mind was like a child’s. The children in the community loved Stevie.

Melissa had played with him as a kid.

He wouldn’t do this.

Someone else was responsible for this horror.

Hadn’t the Shepherd family suffered enough tragedy? First her father had been killed by serving his country while she and William were just kids. Melissa was convinced that was the reason William insisted on joining the military in the first place—to somehow feel closer to his father. Then, as if that hadn’t been a kick in the teeth, their mother had died four years ago. Melissa hadn’t been anywhere near ready to lose her mother. But Polly had come along and she’d brought new light to that dark, empty place.

Now she was missing. After five days Melissa feared the worst.

A lump rose, tightening her throat. Please, God, don’t let that sweet baby be hurt.

As if her agony had summoned him, William came up beside her. “The chief sent me home.”

Melissa turned to her brother. He looked beyond exhausted. She knew full well the agony she felt was nothing compared to what he suffered. Polly was his first and only child. He loved her more than life itself. He’d done everything in his power to give her a good life—in spite of the difficulties he and his wife had in their marriage.

The whole town despised Presley. Whispered ugly things behind William’s back when he’d announced that he and Presley were to be married. Melissa wasn’t blind or stupid. She knew full well the stories, some all too true, that traveled the gossip circuit on a regular basis about her sister-in-law. But Melissa chose to give Presley the benefit of the doubt. Everyone deserved a second chance and Presley’d had a rough go of it as a kid. William loved her. That was enough for Melissa.

“Presley was sleeping,” William said, his voice weak with fatigue and fierce worry. “I didn’t want to bother her so I came here.”

Melissa’s chest tightened. Whatever anyone thought of Presley, she worshipped Polly. As much of a nightmare as this was for her, Melissa couldn’t begin to fathom how Presley felt. “You need sleep, too.” She brushed the back of her hand across his shadowed jaw. He felt cold despite the unseasonably warm weather. “You can’t help Polly if you’re too worn out to think straight.”

William shook his head. “I can’t bear to sleep.” Emotion glistened in his bloodshot eyes. “Who would do this?” His lips trembled. “Who would take my baby?” He dropped his head.

The sheer agony in his voice tore at Melissa’s heart. Just looking at him brought images of Polly to mind. The little girl had her daddy’s blond hair and blue eyes. She was a little duplicate of him and she’d brought so much joy to their lives.

The loud chime of the doorbell echoed through the too-quiet house.

Melissa’s and William’s gazes locked.

What if they’d found Polly or…Melissa swallowed tightly…her body?

Dear God, no, no, no. Don’t let that be.

Melissa pulled her bravado up off the floor and wrapped it around her. “They would’ve called,” she said aloud. That was right. She let the air seep back into her lungs. “If they’d found her, they would’ve called.” The courage she’d dredged up and the words she’d spoken for her brother’s benefit did nothing to slow the thundering in her chest.

William nodded. “Guess so.”

The chime echoed a second time. “Stay here.” Melissa squeezed his arm. “I’ll see who it is.”

She turned from her brother, her heart somehow rising into her throat while it continued to pound frantically, and started toward the living room. The dishes she’d intended to wash when she’d come into the kitchen still waited, but she didn’t care. It was difficult to keep her mind on anything except Polly.

Chief Talbot, the town’s chief of police since Melissa was a kid, had ordered Melissa back home this morning, too. He didn’t want her or William out there. Maybe because of what he feared finding or maybe just because they both looked like death warmed over.

At least the chief had allowed their Uncle Harry to continue helping with the search. Harry would call the instant he knew anything. He was practically a second father to her and William. He’d stepped in when their father was killed, taking over for the younger brother he’d adored. Melissa felt certain that was why he’d never married and had a family of his own. He’d been too busy taking care of his younger brother’s.

Holding her breath, Melissa opened the front door.

She’d braced for the appearance of one of Bay Minette’s finest or a family friend bearing bad news.

But not this. She wasn’t prepared for this.

Jonathan Foley.

The breath she’d been holding whispered past her lips, his name forming there without conscious thought. “Jonathan.”

“Melissa.”

The sound of his voice echoed through her being, made her soul ache with the need to reach out to him. He looked exactly the same. Tall with shoulders that filled the doorway. Thick black hair still military short. Chiseled jaw that gave the impression of unyielding stone. But it was the eyes that made her already pounding heart stumble drunkenly.

They were ice blue, so pale they were almost gray. She’d always been certain that he could see right through her. That he could read her every thought.

“I’ve been waiting for you to call.” She managed to keep her voice steady, which was an outright miracle.

“May I come in?”

Shaking off the shock and confusion, Melissa stepped back. “Of course.” Get your head together, girl.

Jonathan Foley stepped across the threshold and into her family home. Melissa’s breath deserted her once more. He was here. After nearly three years without a word, he was here.

He waited patiently, his eyes searching hers.

She summoned the courage that had apparently run for parts unknown. “I’m glad you came.” It was the truth. She’d expected nothing more than a phone call but she was damned glad he was here. The urge to fall into his arms consumed her again.

“Has there been any word on your niece?”

Melissa moved her head side to side. The movement felt stiff and jerky with the tension ruthlessly gripping her neck.

Silence pressed against her, filled the room for half a dozen beats of her aching heart.

She gave herself a mental kick. “Please sit.” She gestured to the sofa and chairs. Wherever he lived now, whatever his job or personal status, he’d come to Alabama to help her family. For that she felt immensely grateful.

He waited for her to take a seat first, then he settled in the chair directly across from her position on the sofa. Old, well-worn, the sofa had been around since she was a kid. The upholstery had changed a couple of times, ending up a wild mix of pink and red flowers against a green and white background. Her mother had picked it out and Melissa didn’t have the heart to change it.

Jonathan considered her a moment, his posture straight and rigid as if he expected a general to enter the room at any moment and he might have to jump to his feet and salute. His forearms rested along the length of the chair arms, his hands palms down, his long fingers extended as if that were the only part of him fully relaxed. Then he finally spoke. “She’s been missing for five days?”

“Yes.” That sinking feeling that bottomed out in her stomach each time Melissa thought about sweet little Polly out there alone or worse dropped like a stone deep into her belly now. “They’re continuing to search for her.” She shook her head. “But they haven’t found anything yet.”

His gaze narrowed so very slightly that she might have missed the change if she hadn’t been staring so intently at him. “No suspects? No evidence discovered?”

“Nothing at all.” She clenched her fingers together and pressed her fists into her lap to prevent them from shaking.

“Has the FBI been called in to assist?”

Melissa had to really concentrate to pull the answer from the mass of painful and confusing information she’d attempted to process the past few days. “There was talk of someone coming from Montgomery.” What had the chief said? Her mind was a total blank! What was wrong with her? Taking a deep breath, she finally pieced it together. “I think a consult was done by phone.”

She waited for a response, physical or verbal, but he said nothing. Sat utterly still. Analyzing her answer, she supposed.

Memories flooded her brain. Moments shared with this man that she had shared with no other human being. Secrets…feelings. Stop. She ordered herself back to the matter of importance. “Is that normal procedure?” she asked when he continued to sit stone still without saying a word.

“Sometimes.” He paused a moment as if to be sure of his words. “The Bureau’s involvement is strictly on a case by case basis. If they’re not on the scene they feel there is nothing their presence could add at this point.”

Did that mean the FBI felt Polly’s case was hopeless? Before Melissa could ask as much, he said, “Walk me through exactly what happened.”

Where was William? Melissa glanced at the door that separated the kitchen and dining room from the living room. Forcing him to relive that night would only add to his misery. “It was late. William and his wife had a fight.” Melissa took a moment to tamp down the renewed rush of emotion. “You know how young couples can be. A little too much passion and not quite enough common sense. William didn’t want Polly to be awakened by the arguing so he left and came here for the night.” Melissa’s throat attempted to close again. “The next morning when he went home Polly was gone and Presley was sleeping off the vodka she’d used to drown her frustrations.”

More than one well-meaning neighbor had commented that no decent mother would drink herself unconscious with her child in the next room. But that was the main emotional outlet Presley had been exposed to growing up. It was what she knew. Melissa wanted to shake her every time she thought about it, but that wouldn’t change a thing.

Even more troubling, the house had been unlocked when William arrived home that awful morning. William insisted he had locked up when he left. Presley claimed he clearly had not since the back door had been wide open with no indication of forced entry. Melissa wanted to believe William, but he’d been damned upset that night. He was only human.

Sweet Jesus, how could this have happened?

“He called the police,” Jonathan prompted.

“Yes.” Melissa chewed at her bottom lip. Her throat was so dry she could scarcely breathe much less swallow. “The chief and one of his deputies arrived within minutes. William and Presley were arguing.” Melissa shook her head. “It was terrible…just terrible.”

Another long moment of tension-filled silence passed, with Jonathan watching her, assessing her. What was he thinking? Had he already formed some sort of conclusion? How was that possible? He didn’t know her family. Certainly she’d mentioned her brother and niece, and her uncle, but Jonathan hadn’t bothered to stick around long enough to meet any of them. Melissa had been living and working in Birmingham at the time. Still would be if her mother hadn’t gotten sick and then if her brother hadn’t deployed to the Middle East.

William had begged Melissa to come home and keep an eye on Polly. And Presley. Determined to help, Melissa had come home and still this unthinkable tragedy had occurred.

“The investigation has uncovered nothing?” her visitor asked again.

“Nothing.” It was disheartening, awful even, but it was the truth. “No one saw anything or heard anything,” she explained, hoping to make herself perfectly clear this time. “Whoever took Polly left no evidence. Nothing.”

“I spoke to my contact at the Pentagon.”

A little hitch disrupted her respiration. “And?” This was what she’d called him about, what she’d needed from him. Not this interrogation. His questions felt exactly like that. As if he was interrogating her. Stay calm, she ordered herself. He was trying to help. Her fingernails pinched into her palms.

“Your brother’s orders have been put on hold indefinitely.”

Relief flooded Melissa with such force her shoulders trembled. “Thank you.”

“But…”

Fear and something resembling anger swirled fast and furiously in Melissa’s stomach. “But?” This was going to be something she wouldn’t like. She could feel it. Jonathan’s hesitation spoke volumes.

“If your brother was somehow involved,” Jonathan warned, “there will be serious consequences.”

Melissa blinked. At first his words just sort of bounced off the wad of emotions swaddling her brain. Then the realization filtered through. He was suggesting William was somehow involved with Polly’s disappearance. “What?” She couldn’t have heard him right. There had to be a mistake. The very idea was ludicrous.

Jonathan didn’t look away. His gaze held hers with the same ferocity as when she’d first found him standing outside the door. “It happens, Melissa.”

The way he said her name, with that same thick huskiness as when they’d made love, ripped open the wounds she’d thought long healed and forgotten.

“More often than you know,” he went on while she scrambled to regain her equilibrium. “These soldiers experience things…see things that change them from the inside out. Sometimes they can’t accept the idea of going back. They’ll do anything to ensure that doesn’t happen. The suicide rate is incredibly high.”

She couldn’t move, couldn’t respond. Melissa knew her brother. No matter what he’d experienced, he would never, ever put his daughter in harm’s way. Never. Anyone who suggested such a thing either didn’t know him or was a fool.

“Most of the families feel that way, even after the worst has happened.”

His answer told her she’d stated her thoughts aloud. Looking down, she unclenched her fingers and swiped her palms against her jean-clad thighs before clenching her fingers into fists once more. Meeting his gaze would take some regrouping. He couldn’t be right. No way. William would never do that. He’d been questioned along those very lines the same day he’d discovered Polly was missing. He wouldn’t, couldn’t do it.

“You’re wrong.” Her gaze locked with Jonathan’s once more. “William would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat for his child. No way would he do this.”

“War changes people. Some more than others, but no one is exempt. Whether it’s visible or not, the change is there.” Jonathan took a deep breath, the rise and fall of his chest the first indication that he had even that essential human need. “The only person who can be certain of William now is William himself.”

Melissa opened her mouth to defend her brother but never got the chance.

“He’s right.”

She twisted around to look at William. The idea that he might have overheard all that had been said in the last few minutes wrenched her heart.

“Sergeant Shepherd,” Jonathan acknowledged.

“Major Foley.” William stepped past Melissa and settled into the chair next to hers.

“It’s just Foley now,” Jonathan corrected.

William made a sound in his throat, not quite a laugh. “Are you sure?”

Melissa watched the interaction between the two men, her pulse thumping in her ears. The connection between the two was instantaneous and palpable. They’d never met, yet the military connection somehow made them familiar.

One corner of Jonathan’s mouth quirked with an almost smile. “You’ve got me there. But today we’re not soldiers so let’s keep things informal.”

William gave an agreeable nod. “My daughter is my heart,” he said, his tone flat. His emotions had run so high for the past few days that his mind and body could no longer maintain the necessary energy for emotional nuances. “I would gladly die right now if it would bring her back here.”

“I have no doubt,” Jonathan concurred. “However, even the best of us have moments when we snap. Maybe do something we didn’t intend to do.” Before William could counter, he added, “Then denial kicks in and we genuinely don’t believe ourselves capable of such an act. The mind is a powerful thing. It sometimes protects us from that which we cannot bear.”

Unlike Jonathan, William’s shoulders were slumped, his usually handsome face lined with fatigue. He turned his hands, palms up. “Believe what you choose, Foley. I had nothing to do with my baby’s disappearance.” His voice cracked with the last. “My only guilt is in not being there like I should have been.”

Melissa took his hand in hers. His felt limp and cold. “You don’t have to convince anyone,” she soothed. “He just doesn’t know you, that’s all.” She glared at the man she’d called to help. “Thank you for making that call.” She squared her shoulders. “Right now William and I should get down to the command post and see what we can do to help.” Melissa didn’t care what the chief said, she wasn’t going to sit here and do nothing.

She absolutely was not going to put William through another interrogation.

Jonathan stood. “I’m glad I could help.”

Every fiber of her being screamed at her to say something, to stop him from leaving. But she wanted him to go, didn’t she? He’d made the call. William didn’t have to leave until Polly was found. Melissa didn’t need anything else from Jonathan. He should go.

William pushed to his feet, letting go of Melissa’s hand and reaching for Jonathan’s. “Sir, you don’t know how much I appreciate what you’ve done.” He shook Jonathan’s hand with a firmness that Melissa would have thought him too weary to generate at this point. “I have no qualms about serving my country.” His hand fell back to his side. “I just couldn’t go…yet.”

Jonathan nodded. “When this is resolved, let me know and I’ll make the necessary calls.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jonathan strode toward the door.

Melissa’s feet remained glued to the floor all the way up until the moment he opened the door.

She was across the room and calling after him before her brain caught up with her actions. “Jonathan.” What the hell was she doing? She should let him go!

He stopped, nearly to the steps, and turned, that ice blue gaze colliding with hers.

“We’re scared.” She pressed her lips together a moment and fought to hold back the tears. “We…we’ve never been in a situation like this. We don’t know if the police are doing everything they can do.” She shrugged, tried to hold back some of the truth spilling out of her, but that wasn’t happening. “We ask questions and get answers we don’t understand. We try to help but they…”

Jonathan was coming back toward her, one steady step at a time, his gaze never leaving hers, not even to blink.

“They don’t know anything…” A sob halted her words. “They can’t tell us anything except to be patient and to pray.” Frankly, she was beginning to doubt her link to the Almighty. She’d about prayed herself out, about lost hope.

Jonathan stopped toe-to-toe with her. “It’s possible that what the police are telling you is all there is to tell.” He shook his head slowly, somberly. “These cases can go unsolved for years.” A shadow moved across his face. “I have to tell you, after five days, if there’s been no ransom demand, the chances of the child being found alive are slim to none.”

“Polly.” The name trembled on Melissa’s lips.

A frown line formed between his eyebrows.

“That’s her name,” Melissa said. “She’s three years old and the most precious child.” She smiled even as a hot tear slid down her cheek. “She has to be alive. I’m not willing to accept anything else. If—” Another of those halting sobs caught her words. “If you can help us, it would mean a great deal to me if you would stay.”

The morning breeze whispered across her skin, sending goose bumps scattering up her arms. She waited for his answer, prayed some more in spite of herself. Maybe he couldn’t help, but somehow, deep in her heart, she knew that his presence would make a difference. She had denied that knowledge, had told herself she’d called him just for the military connection, but that had been a lie.

She needed him right now. Melissa didn’t want to admit any such thing, but it was true.

Damn it, it was true.

“Make no mistake,” he said quietly, “I can’t promise you anything.”

She shook her head adamantly. “You don’t have to promise anything. It’s enough that you try.” Her lungs dragged in a deep, much needed breath.

Their gazes held for one, two, three beats. “All right then. I’ll try.”

Chapter Three

11:05 a.m.

Jonathan stayed on the front porch of William Shepherd’s modest home while he and Melissa argued with his apparently uncooperative wife. The windows were raised, allowing the breeze to drift inside and also permitting the raised voices to carry right out to where Jonathan waited on the ancient wooden swing.

Presley’s argument was simple. She’d been interviewed by the police twice, the family half a dozen times and she had no desire to answer questions from some friend of Melissa’s. The way she said her sister-in-law’s name suggested a serious dislike. In sharp contrast, Melissa patiently and gently urged Presley to reconsider.

Melissa.

Jonathan drew in a breath, the heaviness in his chest fighting the effort. What the hell was he doing here? He’d made the call. That was all she’d asked him to do when they’d spoken on the phone. Her brother now had whatever time he needed to resolve this terrible state of affairs. The local police seemed competent; the FBI had been consulted. There was little else Jonathan could do other than retrace already taken steps. He nudged the porch floorboards with the toe of his boot, setting the swing in motion.

And yet he had agreed to stay when she’d asked.

Because he had to.

Jonathan closed his eyes and let the memories he’d dammed years ago flood his mind. Their meeting had been nothing more than a chance encounter. He’d been on the final plummet of a serious downhill slide. Walking away from his military career under the circumstances at the time of his official exodus had plunged him into a thirty-month descent of self-pity and denial. Denial of who he was and what he’d done.

Until a midnight brawl in a bar in Birmingham had landed him under arrest and with a nasty gash as a souvenir. He rubbed at his forehead where the scar still ached whenever he thought of his former stupidity.

Registered Nurse Melissa Shepherd had been on duty at the ER that night. She’d patched him up and, after he’d made bail, she’d said yes to his offer of dinner as a way of showing his gratitude for her extraordinary patience with a less than amiable patient.

The ability to draw in a deep breath deserted him once more as the memories poured through him. No one had ever pulled him in so deeply. He hadn’t been able to get enough of touching her, of looking at her. He would have done anything for her—except put the past behind him and make a real commitment. The dreams—no, the nightmares—he’d suffered since that last military mission had prevented any possibility of moving on with his life. Jonathan Foley existed in the moment.

Even Melissa’s unconditional love hadn’t been enough at the time to help him move beyond the past. The facts listed in his official military jacket that explained the decisions—decisions he had made that protected the mission but ultimately cost the lives of good men. The same facts that still allowed him to call up a top-ranking official at the Pentagon and make things happen.

Jonathan surveyed the small yard that flanked the little house Melissa’s brother called home. The picket fence needed a fresh coat of paint. The house could use one, too, but it was a home. Maybe not such a happy home, but a home where a man and woman had made a commitment to give life together a shot. A home where a child played. The colorful sand-box beneath the oak tree, along with the big plastic, equally colorful building blocks made for climbing marked this as a home where a child lived.

Except that child was missing. Probably deceased.

Regret twisted in Jonathan’s gut.

Melissa didn’t want to consider that possibility but the chances the child was deceased were far greater than the likelihood that she would be found alive.

Melissa and her family didn’t deserve this horrific pain. Unfortunately Jonathan doubted he would be able to make it right. He would try. He owed Melissa that. She had given everything she’d had to give and he’d walked away.

He’d let her down just as he had his team two years prior to that.

His work as an Equalizer now allowed him to do what he couldn’t do over five years ago for his team, what he couldn’t do for Melissa three years back. Make a wrong right.

Maybe if he could in some way make this tragic wrong right, he could forgive himself for hurting Melissa with such nonchalance.

He had to try.

The screen door opened and Melissa leaned out. “You can come in now.”

Jonathan pressed the soles of his boots against the porch floor, stopping the swing and simultaneously pushing himself up.

“Just one thing.” Melissa looked embarrassed. “Presley has a serious hangover. She’s a little cranky so tread lightly.”

“Yeah.” Jonathan forced something as close to a smile as he could produce. “I got that part.”

He immediately regretted the words. Melissa’s look of weary exasperation had him rethinking his lack of tact. When she turned and went inside, he followed.

The interior of the house was as humble as the exterior, and equally in need of attention. Toys lay scattered about, but the glaring theme was disorderliness. Under the circumstances it was expected, but Jonathan sensed the house had always been untidy. Clearly, living up to “Suzy Homemaker” standards was not on Presley’s agenda.

Presley Shepherd, twenty-three according to her DMV record, currently had auburn hair. Her DMV photo showed her as a blonde with a brazen blue streak down one side. She was dangerously thin and quite happy to show off as much of her slight frame as possible. The shorts and tank top were two sizes too small even for her.

“Presley,” Melissa said, “this is my friend Jonathan.”

The missing child’s mother peered up from her perch on the sofa, her gaunt cheeks making her eyes appear inordinately large. “Let’s just get this over with. I have stuff to do.”

William indicated the end of the sectional sofa farthest away from where his wife lounged. “Please, have a seat, sir.”

Jonathan waited for Melissa to settle first, then lowered onto the upholstered sofa beside her. The brush of his arm against hers made him flinch. Thankfully she didn’t seem to notice.

“What do you wanna know?” Presley demanded. She combed her fingers through her hair and looked him up and down as if she’d only just realized he was male.

“Why don’t you walk me through the night Polly went missing,” Jonathan suggested.

Presley rolled her eyes.

“I know this is hard,” Melissa said softly, “but we have to try every avenue.”

Jonathan was amazed by her patience. He wasn’t so sure Presley deserved so much slack. He didn’t need a shrink to analyze this woman. Her indifference and self-absorption were glaringly evident and, based on what he’d read of her background when he’d looked into the characters related to this drama, likely related to her neglected childhood.

“William and I had a big fight.” Presley glanced at her husband, who looked as miserable as he no doubt felt. “Polly was asleep. I didn’t want her waking up with us fighting again so he went to his folks’ house for the night. No big mystery.” She threw her hands up. “Same old, same old.” She made eye contact with Jonathan only once and only briefly as she spoke.

“Again?” he asked.

Her pale face scrunched into a frown. “What?”

“You said,” Jonathan clarified, “that you didn’t want Polly to wake up with you fighting ‘again.’ Have you been fighting frequently?” He glanced from Presley to William and back. “Since he returned home on leave?”

Her thin, pointy shoulders hunched. “I don’t know. Yeah, I guess. We always fight.” She looked to her husband. “It’s just the way we are.”

William said nothing.

Jonathan moved in a different direction. “According to the police report, there was no sign of forced entry. Did you ensure the door was locked after he left?”

She twirled the fingers of her right hand in her hair. “Course. I’d be stupid not to.”

William cut a look at her but quickly glanced away.

Jonathan let several seconds lapse before broaching the next question. He wanted both of them to squirm a moment. William’s posture and outward expression never changed. Presley’s, on the other hand, became more agitated. She changed positions on the sofa twice and tugged at her skimpy blouse.

“Besides yourself and William who has a key to your house?”

William looked to Melissa. “You have one.”

Melissa nodded. “I keep it in the key box at home.” To Jonathan she added, “It’s on the wall by the back door. That’s where we hang the keys.”

“No one else.” William turned to Presley. “Right?”

“You’d know better than me,” she said, incensed. “You got the locks changed the last time you were home.”

Jonathan considered her statement a moment as she and her husband discussed the issue of keys. “Why did you have the locks changed?” he asked, the question directed to William.

“Presley was being harassed by this jerk,” William said, “and I was about to be deployed for six months.” He shrugged. “I was trying to protect my family.”

“Worked out real good, didn’t it?” Presley snapped.

A new layer of agony settled deep into William’s features.

“Blaming William or yourself won’t help right now,” Melissa said in that same gentle tone. “Is there any possibility someone else had a key? One of your friends maybe?”

Presley shot up from the sofa. “I knew this was the way it would be.” She planted her hands on her narrow hips. “I’ve been through this crap with the cops already. I don’t need to go through it with you. Everybody knows that retard Stevie took Polly.” She glared at Melissa. “He probably got the key from your house. You let him hang around all the time like he’s family or something.”

Melissa flinched. “The key is right where it has always been. And you know Stevie wouldn’t do that. He’s family. We’re the only family he has.”

Presley’s eyebrows reared up in skepticism. “You sure about that, Miss Goodie-Two-Shoes? They won’t let him play with the kids at the day care center no more cause of what he did. Maybe you’d better get your facts straight.”

Jonathan exchanged a look with Melissa. Had he missed something?

Melissa shook her head, weariness and worry heavy in her eyes. “That was a misunderstanding. Stevie was a volunteer. The kids loved him. That one little girl was new. She didn’t understand Stevie was only playing. Chief Talbot cleared Stevie of any wrongdoing. He doesn’t go back to the center because it puts him at risk. Not the children.”

“Whatever.” Presley slinked out of the room.

William heaved a weary sigh. “I’m sorry.” He glanced in the direction his wife had disappeared. “She’s not herself.”

“A missing child is the sort of nightmare no parent ever wants to go through,” Jonathan said, acknowledging the difficulty of the situation. “We all show our pain in different ways.”

As if he’d said the words about their situation Melissa turned to him, her gaze searching his.

An old familiar pang ached through Jonathan. He banished the ache and focused on the questions he needed to ask. “The windows are open,” he said to William. “Were they open that night?”

William shook his head. “That night it was cold for May. One of those dogwood winters the old timers talk about.”

“May I see her room?” Jonathan couldn’t name what he was looking for but he needed to get a feel for the family life. He’d formed a pretty strong opinion already and it wasn’t good. With William away serving his country most of the time, it didn’t appear that anyone was watching after the child in any significant and consistent manner. He felt confident that Melissa did all she could, but he doubted that Presley allowed her interference often.

With visible effort, William nodded and pushed to his feet. “It’s, uh, this way.”

Jonathan waited for Melissa to go ahead of him but she hesitated. “She knows something.” Melissa checked to ensure her brother was well out of hearing. “Something she’s afraid to tell.”

He didn’t have to ask whom she meant. Her sister-in-law. The pain on Melissa’s face even as she voiced what Jonathan himself sensed with little doubt made his gut clench. “I agree.”

Melissa turned to lead the way to the child’s bedroom without saying more, but the relief Jonathan had noted on her face at his agreement made him wonder just how bad a mother Presley had been. Maybe not that bad, he amended. Melissa would never overlook abuse or neglect.

The small house had two bedrooms separated by a bathroom down a short hall from the main living area. The child’s room was a little tidier than the rest of the house he’d seen so far. The bed was unmade, stuffed animals lined shelves and themed curtains dressed the windows. The signs of a forensic tech’s work remained visible. The room had been dusted for prints and the bed linens had been removed for collection of trace evidence. That last part surprised Jonathan. The official report had shown no indication that sexual abuse was suspected.

Jonathan checked the window. It was closed and locked, presumably the way it was the night the child went missing. The pink paint around the window looked clean and undamaged. The curtains showed no tears.

There was nothing about the room that appeared out of place to an outside observer. Jonathan turned to William. “Does Presley work outside the home?”

“Sometimes she helps out at the diner downtown.”

“Who takes care of Polly when her mother works?”

“She goes to the day care center at the First Baptist Church.” William’s gaze stayed on the child’s pillow as he spoke. “It’s kind of a mother’s day out program. Polly likes going there.”

Jonathan wanted to ask about the guy who had harassed Presley, but he would get that information from Melissa later. “Are there any other places Polly goes regularly? Any friends she plays with who live nearby? Any neighbors who were home the night she went missing?” The street was lined on both sides with small homes. Not more than a dozen feet separated them. The police had interviewed neighbors and those who had regular access to the child. He’d read those interviews, as well. Jonathan’s strategy would duplicate a lot of that ground. But sometimes the same question asked twice reaped different answers.

“She goes to church with me on Sundays,” Melissa said before William could. “The same church where she goes to mother’s day out.”

Melissa had gone to church when they were together, Jonathan recalled. He wasn’t surprised that she did still. “Any children she plays with regularly? Other parents who are friends of yours, or Presley’s?” he asked William.

“The kids next door once in a while,” William said, “but not really anyone else outside the kids in the church program.”

“Was anyone home that night at the neighbors on either side?” According to the police report the neighbors had been home, but no one heard or saw anything.

William nodded. “Most were already in bed. The police canvassed the entire street. No one remembered hearing anything that night.”

“Do you remember what time you left?” The time stated in the report was midnight, which provided a reasonable explanation for no one having been in a position to see or hear any comings and goings.

“A little after midnight.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “It was late. I tried to reason with her, but she insisted I leave.”

Not midnight. After midnight. “You’re sure about the time?”

“Maybe. I guess. I was too angry to really notice. But it was around twelve-thirty when I got home.”

“By home,” Jonathan clarified, “you mean the house where you and Melissa grew up?” Where Melissa lived now.

William nodded.

Melissa walked to the window and peered out. This was hard for her, too. She wanted to protect William and Presley, but who was going to protect her?

Who had protected her when he’d walked out on her?

Clearing the past from his head yet again, he asked, “Has Polly ever gotten out of the house or unlocked the door for anyone?” Jonathan couldn’t see that being the case at such a late hour, but it wasn’t impossible.

William shook his head. “Polly doesn’t take to strangers. She’d never leave the house alone or open the door for anyone.”

“Never,” Melissa confirmed, turning back to the conversation. “She’s a sweet child and plays well with the other kids, but she’s a little shy around adults that she doesn’t know.”

Under the circumstances, Jonathan felt there could be little doubt that the child’s disappearance was foul play. The only questions were how the person got in and why no one, the mother in particular, heard anything. At least one door had to have been left unlocked.

“Presley didn’t unlock the door for any reason after you left?” Jonathan pressed. “And no one was allowed in the house?”

William stared at the floor. “She says she went straight to bed and no one called or came over.”

That he didn’t meet Jonathan’s gaze as he spoke greatly discredited his words and concurrently alluded to what he wasn’t saying.

“Does Presley have a habit of hosting company at late hours or leaving the house while Polly is sleeping?”

William met his gaze then. “I can’t say for sure. She swears not, but,” he shook his head, “she’s lied to me before.”

“We think she may have left the house that night,” Melissa said, visibly struggling with the fact. “After William was already gone. But it couldn’t have been for long. She loves Polly too much to take chances like that.”

It was wrong and crazy as hell. But Jonathan knew it happened. “She won’t admit as much?” He knew the answer before he asked but he needed confirmation.

William shook his head again. “She’s sticking to her story that she went to bed and didn’t wake up until I came in the next morning.”

Pounding echoed through the house, waylaying Jonathan’s next question.

“I should get that…” William gestured toward the door. “I’m pretty sure Presley doesn’t want to talk to anyone else right now.”

“We have other aspects of the case to look into,” Jonathan offered. “We’ll get out of your way for now.”

William nodded and went to answer the door.

Jonathan hung back, letting the others go before him. He took one last lingering look at the child’s room. Afraid of strangers. Possibly left at home alone. No signs of forced entry or struggle.

Polly was taken by someone she knew. Or she remained asleep during the abduction.

Jonathan’s money was on the former.

By the time he reached the living room, William had opened the door to an older man.

“William, what’s going on here?” The man looked past William to Jonathan. “Who is this?”

Melissa stepped forward. “Chief, this is Jonathan Foley, a friend of mine.”

Jonathan knew all about Chief Reed Talbot, having read a lengthy profile on the man. The chief glared at Melissa, then at Jonathan. “Presley called all upset about some stranger interrogating her about Polly’s disappearance.”

Jonathan thrust out his hand. “Jonathan Foley. I apologize for not making your office my first stop, but I wasn’t sure you’d be available under the circumstances.”

Talbot’s gaze narrowed with suspicion. “I’ve been heading the search for Polly. That’s where I should be now.” He tossed this statement, chock-full of accusation, at Melissa.

“I don’t want to get in your way, Chief,” Jonathan insisted. “I’m just here to provide any support I can to a friend.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll want to hear the news I’ve come to pass along.”

Melissa’s breath caught. William’s eyes widened with hope.

“We’ve learned Stevie Price’s whereabouts,” the chief announced in a rather flat tone.

“Is Polly with him?” Melissa asked, her voice scarcely a whisper.

The chief shook his head. “No, but at least this latest break clears up that question. An eye witness saw Stevie board a bus for Nashville that left early in the evening. Well before the child went missing.”

Jonathan recalled reading that a local had gone missing the same day as the child. A local who not only knew Polly but who played with her frequently.

The confirmation that the child wasn’t with that missing local opened up the possibility that she was with a stranger. But Jonathan’s instincts still leaned toward an intimate—someone the child knew well.

If she was still alive.