Dale shot her a look that said he doubted she’d stick to that plan. But he was wrong. My mother is dead to me. I have no family but Bella.
After a moment she asked, “Will you tell your mom about Bella?”
Dale grabbed his soda and made a noisy slurp. No doubt a stall so he could consider his answer.
“I think that depends,” he said.
“On what?” She held her breath, knowing the answer, but not wanting him to verbalize it.
“When we find our daughter alive, I look forward to introducing Bella to her grandmother,” he said carefully.
Fran nodded and remained quiet. And if we don’t find her alive, it would be cruel to burden a grandmother with the knowledge that a granddaughter she never knew was lost to her.
“Is that all right with you?” Dale asked. “You once told me you’d take her straight back to Italy.”
“Will your mother be pleased to learn she has a twelve-year-old granddaughter?”
When Dale didn’t answer right away, Fran blinked away tears. Maybe Dale’s mother was as medieval as her own.
“Bella doesn’t need another cold and distant grandmother. If your mother—”
“You don’t need to worry about that,” Dale said. “What you need to worry about is how furious Mom will be when she realizes she missed twelve years. She’ll never let us forget how we cheated her out of that time. And my sisters...” He trailed off. “Oh, jeez.”
“What?” Fran asked.
“Do you remember my little sisters?”
“Five of them. I remember they followed you everywhere.”
“Drove me nuts.”
“They adored you,” Fran said.
“And they’ll adore Bella.” He shook his head. “I can picture the hen party now. Trying on clothes, experimenting with makeup, chattering away.”
“Bella would like that,” Fran said softly. “She always wanted a brother or a sister.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t know my crazy sisters like I do. My youngest sister is only a few years older than Bella.”
“Five aunts,” Fran said, amazed at the idea of so many women in one house. “She has no other family in Italy.”
“And my dad—oh, boy. He’ll be ecstatic about a granddaughter.”
“I hope you are right.”
“I am right. Believe me, Fran. I know my family, and they’ll accept Bella with open arms.”
He lapsed into silence and stared at the road ahead. How easy it was to forget for a moment. What was wrong with them? She and Dale should not indulge in fantasies about a future meeting between his family and Bella. That meeting might never take place.
“I know what you are thinking,” Fran said. “First we have to find her.”
“Yeah, first we have to find her.”
They’d driven without speaking for a long stretch when his ringtone sounded, startling Fran into a little peep. Dale shot her a quick glance. What was she so deep in thought about?
“Yeah, Javi,” Dale answered, using the hand-free mode again so Fran could hear.
“You still on the road?” Javi asked.
“We should be getting into Tampa traffic soon. What’s going on?”
“We struck out with Atwood. He refused to give up any information about who he sold your daughter to. We showed him her photo and he denied any knowledge of her existence.”
Dale swore under his breath. “The man’s not interested in any kind of a deal?”
“His attorney wouldn’t let him say a word, but the judge liked our evidence and denied bond. Atwood doesn’t strike me as the type of man who will enjoy incarceration. He may become more cooperative after a few days in lockup.”
“My daughter doesn’t have a few days.”
“Sorry, man. We’re going through Atwood’s phone records focusing on calls to numbers in the Tampa area, but you know that will take some time.”
Time. Dale shook his head. Bella didn’t have her inhalers. How much time did she have before an asthma attack made it impossible for her to breathe?
“We’ve got our forensics team working round the clock,” Javi continued. “They’ve posted Bella’s photo in their workroom as motivation. We are doing everything we can with little or no information to go on.”
Fran made a small noise.
“Thanks, Javi. Anything from the Tampa bureau?”
“Not yet, but they’re sending out feelers to their confidential informants, looking for information on the street. You’ve got an appointment at seven a.m. with Special Agent Reginald Button. He’s the human trafficking specialist over there”
“Button couldn’t see us tonight?”
“Said he’d have a more complete picture for you in the morning.”
“Understood,” Dale said, although frustration gnawed at his gut. No progress had been made for hours. He had nothing new to investigate. What the hell was he going to do in Tampa tonight? He couldn’t just sit in a motel room and watch television. Maybe he could do some research. He’d received a list of websites to check out.
“No one here is dropping the ball, Dale,” Javi said. “I promise you that.”
“We appreciate everything you’re doing, man.”
“Hang in there,” Javi said. “I know it’s hard, but try to get a good night’s sleep and start fresh tomorrow.”
When Javi disconnected, silence descended over the interior of the SUV. Fran sat with her arms wrapped around herself staring out the windshield.
After a few minutes, Dale asked, “You okay?”
She nodded.
“We’ll find her, Fran.”
“How can we find her?” Fran’s voice was so bleak Dale resisted the urge to pull off the interstate, take her into his arms and hug her. “We do not even know where to look.”
He reached out and grabbed her hand. She threaded her fingers through his and squeezed. Neither of them spoke until Dale took the exit for downtown Tampa.
After registering at a motel close to the FBI building, Dale carried their luggage into their first-floor room that came with free Wi-Fi, a small refrigerator, and two double beds. Fran zipped open her suitcase, grabbed some clothing and disappeared into the bathroom. Dale stared at the closed door, shrugged, and set up his laptop.
While waiting for the computer to connect to the Wi-Fi, he listened for any sounds from Fran. She obviously needed some time alone, and he should let her have it. Right?
Of course she was upset about the lack of information. Hell, he was worried, too. Bella was running out of time. But he didn’t know this city. This wasn’t his town.
Like she said, he had no clue where to even start looking for their daughter.
Water began to run in the bathroom. Sounded like the sink, not the shower. Was she washing her face or masking the noise of her sobs? God, he hoped she hadn’t hidden in the bathroom to hide tears.
What should he do? Demand she come out and talk to him. Or let her have her space? Would ignoring her constitute behavior that his sisters called insensitive? He had no clue. Normally when women got weepy around him, he was out the door. And maybe she was just washing her face.
He’d give her a little more time for herself.
He logged onto a search engine and went to work. He’d decided to check out Bella’s social media for clues. And where the hell was Ybor City? According to Javi, it was an old section of Tampa. He pulled up a map service and entered that name.
He also wanted to log onto a pornography site, phone sex, escort service—some salacious website in the Tampa area from the list he’d received. If he found a phone number, he’d ask a tech in Miami to backtrack it to an address. Maybe he could find a specific address in Ybor City.
Even if he didn’t get an address, he itched to check out the area, see what it looked like, get a feel for the surround
ings.
He knew this process was a long shot. Highly unlikely he’d get anywhere, but at least he was doing something. He couldn’t stand the idea of sitting around the motel room all night with nothing to do but worry about what was happening with his daughter.
And the knowledge hit him like a ton of bricks all over again.
Damn. He had a daughter. Still hard to believe, but he was getting used to the idea, even if that daughter was at risk, lost somewhere in the hands of people who only wanted to profit off her youth and beauty.
He hardly dared think about what would happen if they were lucky enough to find Bella alive. She’d be traumatized by her experience. How could she not be? Would she somehow blame him for what had happened? Would he have the opportunity to get to know her? Did he want to?
Hell, yes.
From what she’d said about Bella meeting his mom, it sounded as if Fran had relented on the plan of immediately returning to Italy. So maybe they’d have a little time. How much time? And what if she changed her mind? What if she believed getting Bella home would be the best thing for her recovery? Did he have any parental rights? Could he stop her from taking his kid and leaving the country?
Not likely. His name wasn’t even on the birth certificate. He’d have to let them go or become embroiled in some kind of international custody battle, the last thing in the world Fran or Bella would need. Yeah, he’d have to let them go.
He didn’t want to let them go. Families should stay together. If Fran and Bella returned to Italy, his new family didn’t stand a chance. Of course she’d go back. She had a life there, a successful career. No one knew her in this country, although—shit, what did he know about that? He paid no attention to the artsy fartsy crowd.
Maybe he could go with her. Would she want him to? Did he want to follow her to Italy, give up his career here?
Did he and Fran have any shot at reconnecting? Two days ago he’d have laughed at the idea, but matters had changed between them. As she’d revealed the truth about what had gone down when she went home, most of his anger and resentment had faded away.
But could he trust her again? Could he truly forgive her for how badly he’d been hurt?
Yeah, he could. Why not?
Dale jumped to his feet and paced the room, stunned at the path his thoughts had taken. Would rediscovering their old passion be worth any risk? Was he thinking along these lines because he so desperately wanted to make love to her?
Was he thinking with the wrong part of his body?
He shouldn’t be obsessing over any of this. First they had to find Bella. If they didn’t find their daughter, nothing else would matter. Fran wouldn’t even be able to look at him.
Dale glanced toward the bathroom as a new sound came from inside. Fran had turned on the shower. With a groan, he pulled his thoughts away from her naked body and moved back to his computer.
Unfortunately, the image that had popped up on his screen was not helpful to a man who didn’t want to think about sex.
His phone rang. Glad for the interruption, he checked caller ID. Javi again.
“Yeah, Javi.”
“Good news. My team found an address.”
Finally. “Ybor City?”
“Yeah. Could be a dead end, but it’s worth checking out.
“I understand.”
“We’ve confirmed Atwood’s connection to Joaquin Zarco,” Javi said. “We found multiple calls to a number that traced back to him.”
“So that’s how Bella ended up with Atwood.” Another dot connected made the picture clearer for law enforcement. Dale grabbed a pen. “Give me the address.”
Javi hesitated. “Of course I know you’ll wait and go with the team tomorrow.”
“Sure,” Dale said. “No problem.”
Dale wrote down the information and repeated it back to Javi to be sure he hadn’t made a mistake.
“Thanks, man,” Dale said. “I owe you one.”
“Keep me in the loop,” Javi said.
“Affirmative.”
“And be careful.”
Dale nodded as he disconnected. Javi understood there would be no waiting. He’d done his duty as an FBI special agent. He had instructed Dale not to go without backup.
But what if Bella had an asthma attack tonight? Tomorrow would be too late.
* * *
WHEN FRAN EMERGED from the well-lit bathroom, the rest of the motel room seemed dark by comparison. The sun had sunk low in the sky, and Dale had drawn the curtains against the glare. She raised her hand to turn on a light, but froze.
Dale sat at the table by the window, his large frame hunched over a computer. His face, illuminated by the flickering light from the laptop screen, was a study of grim concentration. His fingers, which appeared way too large to successfully manipulate such tiny keys, skimmed over the keyboard.
Unable to look away from him, she longed for her sketch pad. She had to draw him. Exactly as he appeared right this moment.
Could she capture the essence of him as he worked the computer trying to find their daughter?
Would her drawing reveal the feelings his return to her life had evoked? She’d convinced herself that she hated Dale, but that had been a strategy for self-preservation.
The truth was she had never stopped loving him. The boy she fell in love with had changed, yes, of course. That teenaged boy was different now, older, more mature. But at his core he was still the same fundamentally good person she had so adored.
She lowered her arm, not flicking the switch. Could she reach her sketch pad before he noticed her?
When she took the first step, he looked up from the computer and smiled.
“Hey,” he said.
“Do not move,” she ordered.
His smile faded. “What?”
“I want to capture you the way you are right now.” She grabbed her sketch pad and pencils.
“The way I am?”
“Yes.” She sat on the edge of the bed and placed her pad in her lap. She hovered a pencil over a blank sheet and sucked in a breath. Can I do it? Do not think. Do not obsess. Just draw.
Dale sat back, his face now in shadow. “How am I?”
“Very sexy.”
His expression morphed into confusion. Fran released a sigh. No, no. That’s all wrong.
“What happened to you in that bathroom?” he asked.
“I took a shower. I am clean. I feel better. Now stop talking.”
His brows shot up. He looked so silly she wanted to laugh.
“Sit forward again. Go back to whatever you were doing.”
Looking dubious, he complied. But he still didn’t appear the same.
“Look at the monitor. I need the light to—there. That’s perfect.”
Fran quit thinking and sketched in the dim light. She forgot where she was, why she was here as she worked to create the image she wanted, what was in her head. Exhilaration shot through her—making her feel weightless—as Dale’s likeness emerged on the page.
Yes, this was definitely her Dale. She could still draw. She had not lost the thing that had defined her for all of her life. She had feared she’d never be herself again.
And then who would I be?
Dale shifted his posture.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“I needed to move.”
“Sit still.”
“I’m getting stiff, Fran. And I need to tell you something.”
She cursed in Italian, caught herself and said in English, “You are a terrible model.”
“I am not a model,” he protested. “I’m a police officer.”
“Ha. You are so much more than a police officer.” Her hands flew across the paper, putting the finishing touches on her quick creation. She frowned at the image, recognizing something familiar.
Mio Dio. Her Searching Man.
“What am I?” he asked, a new note in his voice.
She glanced up from her drawing, seeing Dale as he was now, the new sadness in him. She felt that same sadness in herself, too.
And then the pain came crashing back into every fiber of her being, taking up all the room, crowding out everything else. While engrossed in her work, she could forget. Part of the beauty of her gift was that total immersion in creation acted like an opiate to block memories. Temporarily.
But the knowledge of what she had lost always came back. First Dale. And now her Bella.
As long as Bella is lost, I am lost.
She shrugged away such depressing thoughts. “You are a father. See.”
She held up the pad so he could see the man she did, a good man, a man who always did the right thing even when he believed he had been horribly wronged.
His gaze lifted from the drawing to her. “Damn, but you’re good, Fran.”
His praise acted like a balm on her sorrow. Using a critical eye, she looked at her sketch again. I am good, aren’t I? Yes, his likeness had turned out as she had wanted.
She pushed away the pride. Such foolishness had got them into this mess.
“I still have every drawing you gave me,” he said.
She raised her head from the sketch. “You kept them? All this time?”
Their gazes locked, and he nodded.
He kept my drawings? What does that mean?
“You were always talented.” He closed the laptop, and his face descended into darkness, no longer allowing her to read the nuances that moved through his eyes. “But you’ve gotten even better.”
“Maybe because that’s all I do,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.
“Practice makes perfect?”
“Perhaps. But that’s not much of a life.”
His eyes narrowed as he continued to stare at her.
“I did a search on you,” he said. “You’re famous in Italy.”
“Hardly famous.”
“In art circles anyway. The critics love your work.”
She glanced down to her drawing again and traced the line of his chin with her index finger. At least someone loves me.
“Thank you,” she said.
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