Little Girl Lost

by Adrianne Lee

  Perplexed, Chad frowned. “What’s her name?”

  “Barbara Jo Dawson.”

  Chad wrote the name on his tablet and tapped it with his pencil. He’d felt certain he’d found the connection between the mysterious brunette and the murder victims. But it appeared he was wrong. “How about that pickup license number?”

  “A 1980 Chevy four-by-four. And it’s registered to one Jane Ann Dolan.” Bonze read off her address in Ellensburg.

  “Did you find out anything else about this Ms. Dolan?” Chad doubted it, given the length of time his researcher had spent on the project.

  “Of course.” Bonze surprised him. “What do you want to know—she works nights in a local bar, supporting herself and her little girl.”

  “No husband?”

  “No record of one.” Bonze moaned. “Jeez, Ryker, don’t tell me you’ve got me working on company time just so you can add another name to that black book of yours.”

  “Hey, would I do that?” Chad ignored Bonze’s resounding “Yes!” He was too busy pondering the secrets of the mysteriously intriguing Jane Dolan. “See what else you can find out about her. And fax me that photograph of Barbara Jo Dawson.”

  “Sure. Gimme a fax number.”

  “I’ll have to call you back on that.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Ten minutes later, Chad was still mulling over the paltry information on Jane Dolan. He couldn’t believe he was wrong about her connection to the murder victims. He needed that fax. But did he dare leave? He checked the time.

  Snoqualmie Pass had still been closed when he’d left the motel. If Marshall J. Emerson’s emissary hadn’t made it over the pass yet, there was plenty of time to arrange for the fax, receive it and get back here to watch.

  He started the engine and pulled the shift lever down. A familiar-looking pickup truck turned off First Street and headed straight toward him. Chad froze. Was it her? The windshield wipers swished fat snowflakes across the glass, leaving a smeary wet patch, but through it he made out the face that had haunted his dreams with sensual pleasures throughout the long night. “Hello, Ms. Jane Dolan.”

  He watched as she continued to the end of the block, turned onto Railroad and disappeared. Chad held his breath. Cle Elum was a small town. If she wasn’t coming to the funeral home, he would soon pick up her trail. But a moment later, she walked around the corner. He shut off the motor, climbed out of his car, and watched her coming up the sidewalk, the gentle sway of her rounded hips mesmerizing him.

  She was wearing an outfit much like yesterday’s: tight jeans, cowboy boots and that brightly colored parka. She was slender, but not in an underfed way like the women he’d dated recently. He found her fuller curves alluring.

  Her long hair drifted loose in the breeze, snowflakes settling and melting on it. His breath caught as if dragged away by the wind. But it wasn’t the wind. It was this beguiling creature with the very kissable mouth.

  God, how he would love the opportunity to kiss her for real.

  He scrambled across the street. She had just grasped the door handle to go inside when he caught up with her. “Jane? Ms. Dolan?”

  She stiffened, stood stock-still for several pulse beats, then lurched around. Alarm filled her beautiful aqua eyes and she cringed back from him. “You! How did you learn my name?”

  “Your license number.” Chad held his distance at the bottom of the steps, remembering none too pleasantly that this woman was perfectly able to fend off any unwanted male attention.

  She took a defensive stance, reinforcing his assessment of her. Only her voice betrayed any vulnerability. “Who—who are you?”

  Why hadn’t she also asked what he wanted? It was a natural question—one most people automatically asked when he approached them. And she had more cause than most, after their encounter yesterday. Her eyes were hard, hard and damned lovely. So like her eyes. Maybe Jane Dolan already knew or suspected what he wanted. Maybe she even knew who he was. “My name is Chad Ryker.”

  If she’d heard of him, or connected his name with the newspaper, it didn’t show on her face. She lifted her chin. “Should I know you, Mr. Ryker?”

  “Maybe.” Impossibly, she seemed more tense than she’d been but a minute before. He decided to play his hole card anyway. “I knew Kayleen.”

  Chapter Three

  Fear flushed hot across Jane’s body, stealing the cold from the air immediately around her. Qualms about her unknown past had had her second-guessing her decision to come here, and had left her wrestling with herself over whether or not she should leave the bodies of her mother and sister unclaimed.

  Why had she let Edie’s call this morning convince her that she could come forward without risk of publicity? Without repercussions? Damn. Why hadn’t she let Kayleen and Mom go to their final rest without acknowledgment of any kind? Had her bad judgment placed Missy in jeopardy?

  This man—who knew that the woman the police called Mary Dickerson was actually Kayleen—was he capable of resurrecting a past that could destroy what was left of her family? The possibility chilled her, and the chill was like a slap in the face. She mustn’t give in to the panic nipping at the edges of her mind, burning her stomach. She had to think. She shook her head at him and shrugged. “Sorry. Mr. Ryker, is it? I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  Before he could respond, and knowing he would follow, she pivoted and escaped through the door, buying thirty seconds of thinking time. The funeral-home lobby was deserted. A scent akin to a rose garden in full bloom—and totally at odds with the wintry weather outside—floated in the air. Muted voices wafted from an inner room somewhere nearby.

  But Jane’s thoughts held her attention. Chad Ryker had said he knew Kayleen—which meant he knew she’d been using an alias. Did he also know why? She heard the door open behind her, her stomach muscles responding with a twinge. She didn’t look around.

  “Ms. Dolan?”

  Jane flinched. If he knew why Kayleen was using an alias, why was he calling her Ms. Dolan? There was only one reason she could think of: Chad Ryker wasn’t sure where she fit into the puzzle. He was fishing. Playing poker—a game she knew a little about from the bar. Her confidence sharpened. He might be holding a pair of aces, but he needed a few more cards to win the pot.

  “Ms. Dolan?” His hand landed on her shoulder. She stiffened and spun around, shrugging free of his grasp. Reflexively, she raised her purse as a weapon, and Chad Ryker stepped back out of her reach, probably leery of her after last night’s knee to the groin.

  She said, “I told you I don’t know anyone named Kayleen.”

  His gray-blue eyes narrowed, and he studied her for a long, tense moment, obviously trying to figure out whether or not she was lying. Finally, he shook his head, and his sensuous mouth tilted in a wry grin. “You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

  Denial sprang from her. “No, I—”

  “Your sister.”

  A fresh wave of panic swept her. Had she guessed wrong about him? Did he know her, too? Jane jammed her purse against her stomach in an attempt to stem the trembling. “I don’t have a sister.”

  It was a half-truth, a lie that Kayleen would likely have approved of, if it kept Missy and her safe from whatever had set them on the run in the first place.

  “If you’re not sisters, then what is the relationship?” Chad brushed at his snow-dampened hair in a gesture so casual, he obviously did it often. The tawny waves glistened with moisture. “And don’t deny there is one. Your eyes are so like hers that you have to be related.”

  Then he didn’t know it for fact. Might not know her name. Simultaneously, disappointment and relief whirled through her, loosening her grip on her purse and nearly buckling her legs. One part of her longed to pick his brain. Another part warned her that further contact with him and discussion of this topic weren’t safe.

  Chad couldn’t decide if she was telling him the truth or lying through her sweet plump lips. Those glorious aqua e
yes with the golden flecks generously sprinkled through the irises betrayed nothing. Was she Barbara Jo Dawson or Jane Ann Dolan? Damn. He needed that fax. And he needed to get her to open up, to trust him. “Why don’t we go somewhere and talk?”

  “You and I have nothing to talk about.”

  But the panic that popped instantly into her lovely eyes spoke to his reporter’s heart. Fed his curiosity.and roused an odd protective instinct he felt for few women. They had plenty to discuss. Maybe if his offer was more tantalizing. He arched a brow at her. “Wouldn’t you like to know what I was doing at the cabin yesterday?”

  “No.” She answered too quickly, and her tone told him he’d struck a nerve. She wanted to know his motives as badly as he wanted to know hers. On the other hand, whatever had her panicked might just rob her of that inquisitiveness; it had his piqued to the max. “Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

  At that moment, a lanky man, dressed in a Western-cut black suit, emerged from the room where Jane had heard the voices. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” He ambled up to them without hurry, as though nothing much ruffled him. Jane envied him the trait. He held his hand out to Ryker. “Roger Diggins. How may I help you?”

  His gaze shifted to Jane and she saw recognition dawn in his dark eyes. Her nerves leaped. Roger Diggins was not only the funeral director, he was also county coroner. One word out of his mouth about her visit here yesterday and he would put the lie to everything she’d denied to Chad Ryker. Right now, she still had Ryker’s doubts as a buffer between his suspicions and the truth. She had to get him out of here.

  “Thank you, but we were just leaving.” She grasped Chad Ryker by the arm like he was some sort of date and steered him outside, undoubtedly leaving the funeral director staring after them in bewilderment.

  Snow fell harder now, small stinging chips of ice. The cold smote her heated cheeks. Chad Ryker grinned down at her and put his gloved hand over the one she had hooked around his lower arm. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

  The strength of his grip conveyed a protective force. A possessive one. The comfort it roused in her boosted her annoyance. She tugged her hand free and frowned at him. “My mind is as set as ever.”

  “Fine, then run away again.” He tilted his head toward the funeral home. “I’ll just go back in and tell Roger Diggins that there might indeed be something. he can help me with.”

  Jane silently cursed his interference and the lousy judgment she’d used in coming to Cle Elum this day. She squinted against the driven downpour, wondering which course of action to take. Stay and talk. Or get in her truck and go home.

  Her gaze slid over the irritating devil beside her. She couldn’t deny he was appealing. He was also devious. And strong. Still, she’d held her own against him once and come out okay.

  He grinned at her. “One cup of coffee?”

  She ground her teeth. She ached to be away from him. But he’d learned her name from her truck license—which likely meant he had her home address, too. If she ran now, it would only be delaying another encounter later. On her home turf. That gave her the shakes. Better to get this over and done with, to get the disturbing Chad Ryker out of her life with as little hoopla as possible. “All right. One cup. The Sunset Café.”

  THE RESTAURANT WAS redolent with the aromas of breakfast: coffee, bacon, sausage, syrup. Jane’s stomach gurgled as they found a clean booth and settled in. Chad ordered, and the waitress returned immediately. She filled their cups from a copper-colored carafe, which she then placed on the table before hurrying off.

  Chad unzipped his parka, revealing a sweater beneath. It was a soft blue that heightened the intensity of his eyes. Something warm and sensuous swirled through Jane’s belly. He cocked his head to one side—a disarming gesture. Whether it was calculated or not, she couldn’t tell. Nor could she tell if he was aware of how enticing it was.

  He reached for the pitcher of cream, but his gaze stayed locked with hers. “Since you claim you don’t have a sister and don’t know anyone named Kayleen, why don’t you tell me what you were doing at the cabin yesterday?”

  “Why don’t you go first?” she countered, tugging off her wet driving gloves and curling her chilled fingers around her hot coffee cup.

  “Because I don’t think you want me to tell the police Kayleen’s real name.”

  The cup wobbled in her hand. She warned herself to stay calm, reminded herself that he didn’t hold all the trump cards. “I don’t think you’re in any position to blackmail me, Mr. Ryker.” She lifted her cup to her lips. “Besides, I might simply have been at the cabin out of morbid curiosity.”

  He watched her drink, a devilish glint in his arresting eyes. “Most single mothers wouldn’t risk breaching a crime scene for the sake of ‘morbid curiosity.”‘

  “‘Single mother’?” Jane stiffened. She dropped her cup on its saucer and lurched to her feet. “You’ve done more than get my name from the state licensing department. Who the hell are you, Ryker?”

  His fingers circled her wrist like a restraining bracelet and he replied in a fierce whisper, “Just a man who wants to know why Kayleen Emerson was using an alias, why she was living in hiding, and whether or not the answers to the first two questions are the reason why someone killed her and her mother.”

  All thoughts of flight left Jane. This was exactly what she herself wanted to know. But what if this man with the soft eyes and the charming smile was lying? What if Ryker already knew the answers to all these questions and was trying to lure her into some kind of trap? He seemed honest and sincere enough. But she couldn’t risk Missy’s safety on how someone seemed.

  It struck her suddenly that he’d called her sister Kayleen Emerson. She repeated the name in her mind several times and was rewarded with a sharp jab of pain at both temples. She blinked, suddenly feeling light-headed.

  Concern cleared the anger from Chad’s face. He tugged her wrist, pulling her down in the seat. “You don’t look well. Did you have anything to eat this morning?”

  “Coffee,” she admitted.

  He insisted she get something sweet into her; ordered her a huge cinnamon roll, then wouldn’t let her talk until she’d consumed three solid bites. As she ate, Jane tried staving off the headache that always accompanied each attempt to remember her former life. It was as if she didn’t want to remember. But that couldn’t be. Logically, knowledge offered her a solid shield against all her fears of the past.

  She took another sip of coffee, then asked, “Why and how did you get so much information on me in such a short time?”

  “Why? Natural curiosity after yesterday. That and my certainty that you were related to Kayleen.”

  “How did you learn so much about me so quickly?”

  “I—” He broke off. Damn. He’d nearly said he never revealed his sources. Might as well admit outright that he was a reporter. That would have this gorgeous brunette clamming up fast, running to her pickup even faster. His gaze fell on her inviting mouth, and he had to concentrate hard on what he was saying. “I don’t think it’s any secret that all of our lives are stored in some computer memory bank somewhere.”

  She couldn’t argue that. The sad fact was, every hour of every day, with every step forward in electronic progress, each one of us relinquished another piece of privacy. She stared at the coffee remaining in her cup. Oddly, its murky black color made her realize her head felt clearer, her reasoning powers restored.

  She raised her eyes to Chad Ryker as something occurred to her. If he was involved in whatever had set her family and her on the run, he would know for certain that she was Kayleen’s sister. He wouldn’t be guessing. And.he would have approached her a lot differently than he had.

  However, even if she had no need to fear him in that area, it didn’t mean she could trust him. The only things she knew about him instinctively were that he exuded a natural sensuality that spoke to the core of her, that told her he was a man who loved women. Who had likely loved lots of women.
/>
  Oh, yeah, Chad Ryker reminded her exactly of the kind of sweet-talking, skirt-chasing cheat she usually attracted. And always avoided. She ignored the sexual tug his heady gaze elicited in her. Despite his faults, he might be able to help her. “If you want me to level with you, Ryker, you’re going to have to tell me the whole truth. Starting with how you knew my sister.”

  Her sister. Chad sank back in the booth, struggling to control the familiar jump of excitement that hit him whenever one of his hunches paid off. So she was Barbara Jo Dawson. Why, then, was she calling herself Jane Dolan? The same reason Kayleen had been calling herself Mary Dickerson? Anticipation flared through him. Could she give him the story he’d come to get from her sister?

  She was staring at him, waiting. The wary gleam in her eye told him to proceed with caution. A lot was at stake. That jackpot he’d been expecting to score with Kayleen might still pay off. If he tempered his bet. But, damn it, he’d intended playing interrogator, not the other way around.

  So what part of the whole truth could he tell her? He wasn’t ready to divulge his relationship with Kayleen, nor the fact that he was a reporter. Still, he had to say something. “We were friends.”

  “Good friends?”

  Chad flinched inwardly. Lying came easily enough in his profession. Not on the page; but sometimes to get the story in the first place, he’d been forced to tell a tall tale or stretch the facts. Why was it bothering him now? Maybe it was the leery innocence in this lovely woman’s face. She was an intriguing puzzle. One of the puzzles was why Kayleen had never told him about her. “Good enough friends not to believe that story her husband told about her running off five years ago with her lover.”

  “Her husband.?” Jane’s hand flew to the side of her head as pain and panic collided within. Why did every snippet of new information cause such physical distress?

  “Marshall J. Emerson,” Chad said.

  She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, riding the wave of pain until it leveled out. She gazed earnestly at Chad. “I.I don’t know that name.”