“Get into bed, Fran.”
She stood and removed her robe, revealing the T-shirt and her legs. She shot him a look.
He did not react.
She leaned over, pulled back the heavy comforter and slid into sheets cool and smooth against her flesh. She wanted the roughness, the heat of Dale’s body.
He flipped the switch, and the room descended into darkness. Lying on her side, she listened to him move back to the converted sofa. He unzipped his pants, the sound unmistakable in the quiet room. She tried to make out his shape, wishing her eyes could more quickly adjust to the lack of light.
He stepped out of his trousers and leaned over to work at something around his ankle. He rose up with an object in his hand, placed it on the table he had moved, making a hard sound.
“What was that?” she asked.
He sat on the bed. After a moment he said, “My Glock. I keep it in an ankle holster. It’s departmental policy for sworn officers to carry a weapon at all times, even when off duty.”
“Oh,” she said. So he had not told her about his weapon, a courteous reminder of the boy she had once known.
Dale stretched out on the bed and released a deep sigh. “I know you don’t like guns, so I didn’t want to flaunt it.”
She closed her eyes. Guns, dead bodies, children forced to work as slaves. Dale lived in an ugly world. The world she came from was full of beauty.
But her world was lonely. Isolated. She created her art in a vacuum where she often did not have enough air to breathe.
She was terrified of everything in Dale’s world, but she hadn’t felt this alive in years. She hadn’t felt anything this much in a long time. She’d cocooned herself in her work and ignored everything else. Even her daughter.
“Fran?”
“Yes?” she answered.
“Did you ask for a wake-up call?”
“Seven a.m.”
“I’ll be up before then, but I’ll let you sleep.”
“Grazie,” she whispered. If I can sleep. Do I even want to sleep and let the nightmares take me?
Fran lay still, listening to Dale breathe. She’d once envied his ability to fall asleep within seconds after closing his eyes, which could prove dangerous for a teenaged couple stealing opportunities to make love. She’d often had to punch his arm to wake him up.
Did he still slip easily into slumber, or had that changed about him as well? He claimed to have been awake much of the night last night, understandable with the bombshell news she’d dropped on him.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. After a moment, she glanced at the digital clock by the bed. 1:17. She waited for Dale’s breath to slow and become regular. At 1:32 the rhythm of his breathing indicated he’d fallen into a deep sleep. Chilly, she pulled the comforter high under her chin.
At 2:15 Fran remained awake while Dale slept. Still too cold, she tossed her covers aside, sat up and placed her feet on the plush carpet. She padded to the thermostat and adjusted the temperature up two degrees. She glanced toward the sofa to be certain she hadn’t disturbed Dale. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and she could see that he lay on his side, covered by a white sheet.
Did he still wear briefs?
Even chillier without the covers and wishing she’d donned her robe, Fran hugged herself for warmth.
Moving quietly, she stepped to the sofa and gazed down at him. Could she lie down next to him without waking him? Unlikely, and how selfish would that be to wake him so she could seek her own rest?
No, she’d find her sketch pad and go to the balcony, make another attempt to draw. It would be warmer outside anyway. She turned to find her robe.
“Are you looking for my gun, Fran?”
Dale’s voice startled her into taking a backward step. So he wasn’t asleep after all.
He rolled onto his back and looked up at her. “Did you plan to shoot me in my sleep?”
She released a breath, hearing the underlying humor in his words. He didn’t truly believe she wanted to shoot him.
“I do not know how to shoot a gun,” she said.
He folded his arms beneath his head, revealing more of his bare chest, ghostly in the dim light. “Do you want me to teach you?”
“Perhaps not right now,” she said.
“So what are you doing?”
“I do not know.” She shrugged. “I could not sleep.”
Their gazes locked across the short distance. It was too dark to see color, but his eyes were Bella’s eyes.
“Can’t stop thinking about Bella?” he asked, his tone gentle.
She nodded. “And those poor tortured children and the dead girl in the morgue. The images keep going around and around inside my head. I can’t turn them off. It is all so awful.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” he said.
“No. I am sorry to wake you. I will go back to bed.”
“Come here,” he said. He patted the mattress beside him. “Let me hold you, Frannie.”
Refusing to think about what she was doing, what a terrible mistake this might be, Fran lay on the bed beside him, her backside toward his body. He wrapped his arm around her and scooped her closer so that they nestled spoon fashion together. She closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of him, wondering how she could possibly remember the feel of him after all this time.
“You’re trembling,” he said.
“I am cold.”
He hugged her tighter. “Do you want me to adjust the air-conditioning?”
“I already did,” she said.
He didn’t reply.
“Relax, Fran,” he whispered. “Nothing is going to happen.”
“I know,” she whispered back. But is that what I want?
“I’ll just hold you until you fall asleep.”
“Grazie.”
“Prego,” he said. She smiled at his accent.
His breathing became regular again. His heat gradually seeped into the muscles of her body, warming her.
Dale knew when Fran finally found her sleep. She’d held her body stiff as if she were afraid he would touch her, make her his own again. No question she knew how badly he wanted her. He’d never been good at hiding his desire.
Lying down next to him had been an act of faith, a trust that he wouldn’t betray no matter how much he longed to rekindle the passion that had once consumed them both. But they’d been kids, horny teenagers in love with being in love.
They knew more about love now. They knew how searing passion could morph into hate and resentment. How strong emotions could alter a person forever, change the way they looked at life, at love. A person burned as badly as he’d been—and apparently she’d been; he had to give her that—could never regain that innocence of first love.
Eventually Fran stopped shivering. Her muscles eased and she relaxed beside him, her chest rising and falling against him in a peaceful rhythm.
At least he hoped she found peace in her sleep. He believed her about the nightmares. Today had been rough for them both, and he might suffer with a few of his own—if he managed to sleep again.
He doubted he’d catch much sleep lying next to Fran. Knowing she was in the same room—and in a bed no less—had been hard enough.
He closed his eyes and listened to her breathing, reassured when it remained steady. He should have tried harder to stop her from going back to Italy all those years ago. He’d wanted to run away and get married, finish school later, but Frannie had been certain she could convince her parents that their love was meant to be. From what she’d told him of a snooty mom and dad, he’d had serious doubts about her chances of success.
Their daughter had already started growing inside her when she’d left. If they’d known, things would have been different. No judge in this country would break apart their family even if her parents object
ed.
But they hadn’t known about Bella.
Hindsight sucked. Wishing he could go back all those years and change what went down did nothing to help them now. He needed to look ahead. They’d missed their chance at happiness, at a life together, but they needed to find their daughter.
Neither one of them could have any lasting peace until they knew what had happened to her.
* * *
THE WAKE-UP CALL jerked Dale out of a dream that got lost the minute he regained consciousness and became hyperaware of his usual morning hard-on. Next to him, Fran stirred but didn’t open her eyes. Despite everything, they’d both managed to get a little shut-eye.
Thank God for small blessings.
He rolled out of bed and hurried to the bathroom to relieve himself, grabbing his pants on the way. He took advantage of mouthwash provided by the hotel and washed his face with warm water.
While he was blotting his face with a towel, his cell phone buzzed. Dale grabbed it and glanced at the readout.
“Yeah, Javi. I was about to call you.”
“What happened with the Jane Doe?” Javi asked.
“She wasn’t Bella.”
After a pause Javi said, “No mistake? Ms. Scarpetta is certain about the ID?”
“No mistake.”
“I’m happy for you, man, but surprised. Blown away even.”
“Why surprised?”
“Three of the kids recognized your daughter’s photograph, even knew her name, calling her Bella. So at least that much of Morales’s story was the truth.”
“What happened to her?”
“Like Morales said, she tried to organize the kids into refusing to work, some sort of a strike. When she couldn’t convince the children to join together, your daughter stood up to Morales, demanding better conditions for the workers, insisting on healthy food and access to a bathroom at night.”
Despite the circumstances, Dale felt a surge of pride. “Pretty brave for a twelve-year-old.”
“Maybe too brave. Sorry, man, but Morales slapped her across the room, bloodying her nose.”
“Shit.”
“Apparently that made her start coughing and wheezing. Didn’t you tell me your daughter has asthma?”
“Yeah.”
“Sounded like an asthma attack. A girl named Maria who seemed to know your daughter best said Bella had medicine in a backpack, inhalers that helped her breathing.”
“Her mom said she took a good supply with her when she left.”
“But here’s the thing. Maria said the morning after Bella’s attack they took her and another girl who’d been sick away. The kids don’t know where, but the men wouldn’t let either take their possessions.”
Dale uttered a vicious curse.
“We found two backpacks in the grave with the Jane Doe. One of them was your daughter’s. Among other items, the pack contained four unused inhalers and a cell phone with a dead battery.”
“Damn.” Wherever she was, if she was even still alive, Bella no longer had her medicine. “But you’re certain there was only one body in the grave?”
“Only one.”
“Did the children say when Bella and the other girl were taken away?”
“Two days, three at the most. Time seems to be elusive for these kids.”
“Understandable. So maybe Atwood did ship Bella to Tampa.” So far Morales’s story had checked out. Other than leaving out the grave with a dead kid.
“We can hope so. I assume you’ll be making that trip.”
“Yes,” Dale said.
“I’ll contact a special agent I know in that district and see what I can find out. Maybe I can open some doors for you.”
“Thanks, man.” A thought occurred. “Listen, Fran will want to see the backpack before we go.”
“It’s here waiting for her. We’ll talk more when you arrive.”
Dale disconnected and lowered his head. The bastards had taken away Bella’s inhalers, no doubt as punishment for disobeying orders. Did the scum know she could die without that medicine? Did they care?
How long could Bella stay healthy without her inhalers? He needed to ask Fran.
If Bella was even still alive. She might be in another grave somewhere else.
Dale raised his head and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. He needed to go out and face Fran, tell her the latest development. What a horrible way to start their morning.
When he emerged from the bathroom, Fran stood in the kitchenette making a pot of coffee wrapped in the white terrycloth robe, her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders in sexy disarray. Two ceramic cups sat on the counter waiting for the brew.
An unexpected pang of regret washed over him. What would it have been like to wake up to Fran in the kitchen making coffee every morning of his life?
She looked at him with a tentative smile. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” Dale said. He sat on a barstool at the counter across from her as the machine gurgled dark liquid into a glass carafe, releasing the aroma of fresh coffee. Fran’s gaze flickered over him, and then she picked up a menu from the counter and studied it.
“Damn,” Dale said, knowing he was putting off telling her the news. “That brew looks wicked strong.”
“I like strong coffee,” she said without looking up.
“I remember.”
“I thought we would order room service for breakfast,” she said, still studying the menu. “Is that okay?”
“That will take too long,” he said. “We can grab something to eat on the road.”
She glanced up sharply. “What’s wrong?”
Dale took a deep breath. Would Fran consider the news good or bad? At least they had definite confirmation Bella had been seen alive in Miami.
“Something has happened. Who was on the phone?” she demanded.
CHAPTER EIGHT
FRAN GRIPPED THE edge of the counter and squeezed. Dale had something to tell her, something important. He’d learned news about Bella.
“Agent Rivas called,” Dale said.
When he’d emerged from the bathroom, she’d feasted her eyes on his nude chest, itching to sketch its symmetry. Realizing that she stared, she’d looked away and grabbed the menu.
Now she searched his face for answers. What had happened? Mio Dio. Did she need to identify another dead little girl?
“The FBI found Bella’s backpack,” Dale said gently, looking at her with green eyes full of pain.
Fran stepped away from the counter, her hand at her throat. “Where?”
“In the grave with the Jane Doe.”
“No.” She shook her head in denial. “No.”
“They didn’t find Bella,” he interjected quickly. “They know the pack is hers because it contained her phone and more inhalers.”
Fran closed her eyes, listening with growing horror as Dale explained how one of the children had reported that Bella defied her captors, got hit for her disobedience, prompting an asthma attack.
And then they took away her medicine. How could anyone take away a child’s life-saving medicine?
“How long can she go without her inhalers?” Dale asked.
“Oh, mio Dio,” Fran murmured, shaking her head. “Mio Dio.”
“Focus, Fran,” Dale said. “How long?”
She shrugged. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“If she is stressed, her airways will constrict and she won’t be able to breathe.”
“So not long?”
“Under these circumstances, not long.”
Their gazes met and locked in silent agreement that time, which had never been on their side, had now become an even greater enemy.
“She needs her medicine,” Fran whispered.
&
nbsp; “I know. The inhalers the FBI found were still in the packaging, so there’s an open one somewhere. Perhaps she hid it in a pocket.”
“Yes,” Fran said, grabbing on to that hope. “That was her habit so she’d always have a puffer available. That is what she called them, her puffers.”
But how long would that puffer last? How much of the medicine had she already used? Perhaps she had finished the open one—maybe that was the one they found—and she hadn’t opened the new one yet.
“So we have a little time,” Dale said.
But how much? “How long ago did they take Bella away?” Fran asked, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.
“No one is sure. Best estimate, two to three days. When we get a time of death from the Jane Doe autopsy, we’ll have a better idea.”
Fran resisted the impulse to toss one of the coffee mugs across the room.
“Will the FBI allow me to take her backpack?” she asked.
“I think so,” Dale said. “At least the medicine. We’ll want to have an inhaler with us when we find her.”
Fran nodded. If we find her alive. She didn’t have to be a mind reader to know Dale thought the odds for that stank. She wanted him to hold her, to comfort her, to tell her everything would be okay. But she did not have the right to ask.
“What about her phone?” Fran asked. “You said they found her phone.”
“The battery is dead, but the FBI forensics team will go through it to see if it contains any relevant information. Doubtful that it will lead us to her location, but you never know.”
“So we are driving to Tampa?”
He looked at her with Bella’s eyes. “As soon as you can get ready.”
She nodded and stepped out of the kitchenette, moving toward the living area. She would get dressed immediately.
As she passed him, Dale stood and drew her into an embrace. With a sob, she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his warm bare chest, silently thanking him for knowing what she needed.
“I’m sorry, Frannie,” he whispered.
Unable to answer, she closed her eyes.
“Think of this as good news,” he said. “We have confirmation that our daughter was in that warehouse.”
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