Little Girl Lost

by Adrianne Lee

  Her overprotective attitude reminded him of his own mother, and deep-seated resentment shuddered through him. But he couldn’t judge her like his mother. Their situations were similar, but different.

  He stole occasional glances at her as she prepared the hot chocolate. He found himself highly intrigued by Barbara Jo Dawson, attracted by the vulnerability he was seeing now—a guilelessness that was so at odds with the gutsiness he’d encountered yesterday at the cabin. It was obvious Missy adored her and kids had great instincts about people.

  As she warmed the milk, Barbara listened to Missy telling Chad about the snowman she’d built the day before. He asked pertinent questions and made the little girl laugh—a sound that went straight to her heart. Missy liked him and that raised her own opinion of him. She disliked him a tiny bit less. If only he wasn’t so good-looking, so cocksure of himself.

  The thought stopped her cold. Was that why she disliked him? Because he was handsome? Self-assured? Sounded more like she envied the self-confidence he had about who he was—because her own was crumbling by the second.

  She placed the full, frothy-topped cups before them. Missy licked at the marshmallow cream, but Chad took a drink, smearing the sticky stuff over his upper lip. Missy giggled and pointed. Chad grinned, and Barbara found herself fascinated by his mouth, imagining what it would be like to be kissed by him in earnest. A real kiss, not an attempt to silence her.

  Something warm and delicious tingled through her, surprised her. She didn’t usually think about men and romance. Had never encouraged anyone’s interest in all the five years she’d lived in Ellensburg, fearing she might still be married. But she wondered now if that was all there was to it. Had she had a bad experience with a man in her past? Missy’s father? The question didn’t aggravate her headache, or bring an inkling of memory.

  The sound of Missy slurping the dregs of her cup broke through her reverie. She grinned at her daughter. “Time for you to be tucked back in, sweets.”

  “Aww,” Missy protested. “Will you read me a short story?”

  “A really short one.” Barbara swept her up and carried her back to bed.

  When Missy was soundly asleep, she returned to the kitchen. Chad had gathered the cups and the pan and put them into the dishwasher. He seemed oddly at home in her apartment.

  She didn’t want him feeling at home here. “I don’t expect guests to clean up.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her, but kept his expression even. “You’re welcome.”

  Heat filtered into her cheeks as she returned his stare. She caught a gleam of sexual interest in his eyes that spoke to her body in a language that required no words. Desire heated her blood as she argued with herself. Physical love was for other women. Until she recalled who she was and why she’d run from her old life, she couldn’t risk involving herself romantically with any man. For all she knew, she was still married to Missy’s father.

  But, oh, it would be so easy to let this man comfort her, on this night when comfort would be most welcome from any source. She deliberately broke the moment. “Do you know Missy’s father? My husband?”

  Chad blinked. He wasn’t sure how to answer that. Finally, he decided to be honest. “I didn’t know Kayleen had a sister. I don’t know why she didn’t mention you, but she didn’t.”

  Barbara didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. All she felt was more curious. Absently, she clasped hold of the locket. Why hadn’t Kayleen told him about her? What had their relationship been? “Then you don’t know if I’m still married?”

  “Sorry.” He had Bonze checking into her background, but hadn’t heard back yet. “I don’t really know anything about you.”

  She shut her eyes and tried forcing the memory herself. Pain rammed into her skull and sent her reeling against Chad. He grabbed her and held her. She huddled against him and let the secure sensation of his embrace drop over her like a comforter. He helped her back to the sofa. “Maybe you shouldn’t try to deal with any more tonight.”

  “I have to. I have to remember.” Her expression touched his heart. “Edie says I don’t want to remember. But I do. I swear, I do.”

  “Edie?”

  “My doctor. My friend. Please, help me remember?”

  He bent to the floor, retrieved his jacket and pulled the fax Bonze had sent him from an inside pocket. It was a head shot of Barbara Jo Dawson—the one Bonze had said was taken on the UW campus. “Maybe this will help jar loose a few memories. This is what you looked like when you left Seattle five years ago.”

  With trembling hands, Barbara smoothed the paper over her legs. The picture was grainy, but she recognized her nose, her eyes, her full mouth. “What is up with the bleached-blond crew cut? And no makeup? I look like some sort of major rebel.”

  “Doesn’t it bring back any memories?”

  “Not really.” She turned pleading eyes on him again. “Tell me something more.”

  “I don’t know anything more about you.”

  “But you must.” She shook the picture at him. “What about this? Where did this come from if you didn’t have someone checking into my background?”

  “I had my assistant checking Kayleen’s background, not yours. He came up with this.” Chad shifted on the seat. “But I can have him look into anything you’d like. Tomorrow.”

  She couldn’t wait until tomorrow. “I want to try now. Ask me some questions. Maybe that will work.”

  He was silent for such a long time, Barbara wondered if he would refuse to help her. She was about to ask him again, when he started gently probing her about Missy’s father. Fear rallied with new energy. The ache in her head doubled. She bent over.

  Chad hugged her shoulders. “What is it?”

  “Just symptoms,” she managed. Strengthened by his support, she fought the headache. “Tell me about my sister.”

  Chad hesitated. “Okay, but we’ll stop anytime you say.”

  She nodded. He blew out a breath. “What do you remember about Kayleen and Marshall Emerson? Anything yet?”

  “He was a doctor, right?” she said, repeating what she’d been told.

  “He’s still a doctor.”

  She nodded and immediately regretted it, but a memory was surfacing, climbing to the top of the dark abyss inside her head. “They hadn’t been married long.”

  He said, “About four years, I think.”

  Another memory scaled the edges of that bleak cavity, scooting toward the light of recall. She couldn’t quite grasp it. “Did she love him?”

  Chad’s face paled. “She had his child.”

  Barbara felt her fear rising. The questions must be getting too close to the trauma. Striving to outride it, she clenched her hands together. “I—I don’t remember.”

  Chad fell silent. She wanted him to continue, needed him to. With sweat flushing her body, she swallowed hard and asked, “D-did something happen to the child?”

  He ignored her question, tugged at the pinkie pinger of his left hand. It was crooked, she realized, as though it had once been broken and never properly set. He asked, “Do you recall that Kayleen and Marshall had a baby six weeks before Kayleen disappeared?”

  Sudden, fierce panic closed her throat. Every desire she had to reestablish her history flew off on the beating wings of pain. She didn’t want to hear this. But she couldn’t say the words, couldn’t lift a hand to signal him to stop. Her chest felt as if it would collapse from lack of oxygen.

  “The baby was a girl.” Chad paused, then straightened and grasped her shaking hands in his. His gray-blue eyes brimmed with compassion and sympathy. And some sort of pain she couldn’t name. “The baby was named Melissa.”

  Chapter Seven

  “What?” Disbelief rippled through Barbara’s laugh, the edges tipped with hysteria. Had he gone too far too quickly? She shook her head, denial written all over her lovely face. “You made that up.”

  “It’s true,” he insisted, deciding there was no going back now. He kept his voi
ce deliberately flat. “The child would be five years old.”

  Anger flared in her eyes. She jerked her hands free from his and sprang to her feet. “I think you’d better leave, Mr. Ryker. Now.”

  “Barbara, please.” Chad stood, keeping his movements easy and calm, his tone soothing. “I didn’t mean to upset you, but I’m telling you the truth.”

  “No. You’re making it up as you go—so that your story will be more sensational. Or do you have some other motive?”

  “I don’t have any motives—”

  “I don’t believe you.” An awful chill grabbed her heart. Had this man ever known her sister? Or had he also made that up? Been given the details of Kayleen’s life by someone? The chill deepened to icy apprehension. By Kayleen’s husband? She frowned at Chad. “Who sent you?”

  “No one, I—”

  A dull roar blared in her ears, squelching his words. She grabbed her head and winced in pain as a horrendous thought vibrated to life. Chad Ryker was here as the emissary of her brother-in-law. They were going to claim Missy was Kayleen and Marshall’s daughter. They were going to try to take Missy from her. Terror shot through her. She pointed an accusing finger at Chad. “Marshall Emerson sent you, didn’t he?”

  Chad reared back in surprise. “What? No!” The thought was so ludicrous, he laughed.

  Her cheeks burned. “Get out.”

  “Barbara, you have to listen to me. To believe me.”

  She threw his jacket at him. “Get out.”

  “I don’t have anything but contempt for Marshall Emerson.”

  “Liar.” Despite his superior strength, she shoved him toward the door. “If you don’t stay out of my life, I’ll call the police.”

  “You—”

  A deathly eerie scream rolled from Missy’s room. Chad stopped. Jerked around. Barbara did the same, her eyes wide with alarm. She ran for the little girl’s room. Chad raced after her.

  Barbara shoved the partially open door inward. It banged against the wall. She hit the light switch. Dim illumination shattered the darkness. The room was small and neat, gaily decorated in the latest Disney cartoon print.

  Chad’s gaze flew to the bed. His breath caught. It was empty, the covers tossed back. His heart pounded so fiercely that he remained oblivious to the odd cold for three long seconds. Then it struck him that the temperature in the room rivaled the icy interior of a meat locker. He glanced at the lone window.

  The building was old, built when state codes were less child-safety minded. The window was wood-framed, wide and tall, set in the wall no more than a foot above the floor. The bottom sash hung open to the night like a trapdoor into hell.

  Barbara let out a sharp cry. “The screen’s gone.”

  Chad’s pulse tripped. Awful images filled his head. He beat Barbara to the window, blocked her view and leaned out. His gaze went immediately to the old-fashioned fire escape three feet below and to the left of the wide window ledge. As he glanced down, he saw the ledge was covered with a thin layer of frost, its smooth veneer scored with black smudges as though someone had stood there.

  With dread climbing his throat, he lowered his gaze. On the frozen earth, two stories below, a body lay sprawled beneath the streetlight. His heart hitched. A man’s body. He’d landed on what appeared to have been a snowman. Missy’s snowman? A baseball cap lay beside him, its logo indistinguishable from here. His neck was twisted at an unnatural angle. His eyes stared eerily. Chad had seen dead bodies before and this guy definitely looked dead.

  “What? What!” Barbara shoved Chad over, poked her head out the window and gasped.

  Chad caught her by the shoulders and pulled her back inside, sorry that he hadn’t been quick enough to spare her. She shivered. He said, “It’s not Missy.”

  She nodded, her hand over her mouth. “It’s Scarface.”

  “Who?”

  “The man from the cabin,” she answered, her eyes darting about the room, her expression preoccupied, terrified. “Where’s Missy?”

  “I’m right here.” The child appeared in the doorway.

  He heard Barbara’s breath catch as his own left him in a relieved rush.

  “Are you mad at Chad, Mommy? I heard you yelling at him.”

  “No, sweetie, I’m not mad at Chad.” Barbara struggled to control her tumbling emotions—the fear, the relief, the quaking in her hands, her knees. At the same time, she curbed the urge to rush to her child, knowing she wouldn’t understand, would quickly realize her mother was shaking and ask questions that were better left for another time. Right now all she could do was grin stupidly at the child.

  Chad rescued her. “We just had a difference of opinion, sweetheart, and I guess we didn’t realize our voices were so loud. I’m sorry we woke you.”

  “You didn’t wake me up. I had to go potty.” She ducked toward her bed, shivering. “Mommy, how come you opened my window? It’s cold.”

  Barbara bit back a hysterical laugh and forced a smile. “Silly me, huh?” She stumbled to the bed and scooped the child up into a hug that reassured her the small person in her arms was as well and safe as she appeared.

  “Too tight, Mommy.” Missy shoved against Barbara’s chest.

  She loosened her hold and sat back on the bed. “I’ll tell you what—since your room is as cold as a Popsicle, you can sleep in my room tonight.”

  “And Mr. Bear, too?” Mr. Bear was Missy’s favorite toy and always slept with her.

  “Of course.”

  “I’m going outside,” Chad said.

  Barbara nodded, then gathered a blanket around the little girl, who clutched Mr. Bear in her arms. She carried her into the larger bedroom and tucked her into the bed.

  Missy’s eyes were half closed as she nestled beneath the double bedcovers. “Can I have another story?”

  Barbara reached a hand to stroke her daughter’s hair, but she was trembling with cold and shock. Her hand a dead giveaway, she drew it back quickly. Missy hadn’t noticed, but if she lingered much longer the little girl would detect her distress. “You’ve had enough stories for one night.”

  So have I, Barbara thought, her head throbbing.

  Missy yawned and rolled to one side. Within seconds she was asleep. Barbara wished she could put the images out of her head as easily, but she kept seeing the body sprawled on top of Missy’s snowman. She shuddered again. What had Scarface been doing at their apartment building?

  The long, harrowing day just kept getting longer and more nerve-racking. She cast one last glance at her daughter and said a silent prayer of thanks that the man had not touched her in any way.

  COLD SMACKED CHAD’S cheeks as he ran outside and across the frosty snow to where a couple of college students—sophomores, he guessed—now knelt beside the fallen man.

  The girl, a baby-faced natural blonde, looked up as he crunched to a stop beside them.

  She said, “We can’t find a pulse.”

  “Let me try,” Chad insisted, brushing them aside.

  The boy, a solidly built redhead who was likely a physed major, rose reluctantly to his feet. “Are you a doctor?”

  Chad ignored the question. “I hope one of you called an ambulance.”

  The girl said, “We were just passing by.”

  “He screamed loud enough someone probably did,” the boy added in their defense.

  “Well, just in case.” Chad pointed to the building. “Go on inside and knock on the first door. Have whoever answers call one…and the cops, too.”

  “Maybe I should stay here with you,” the boy volunteered.

  “Jason, come with me,” the girl pleaded, her eyes wide with apprehension.

  “Go ahead,” Chad encouraged, shrugging out of his down jacket. “And bring back a blanket.”

  Frigid air penetrated Chad’s wool sweater, sending a shudder through him. Under the guise of keeping the man warm, he tucked the jacket beneath his chin and did a quick, thorough search of the corpse’s pockets—coming up empty-handed. The man had
no ID on him. Not so much as a driver’s license.

  He glanced at the glassy eyes. “Who the hell sent you, bud?”

  In the distance he heard a siren. Nearer, came the sounds of the curious finally venturing out into the bleak night for a glimpse of whatever had caused the excitement. The boy and girl returned with a blanket. He took it from them, retrieved his jacket, then covered the dead man’s head with the green coverlet.

  He told the couple his name, then said, “Stay here and tell the police what you know. I’ll be in apartment 2C.” He pointed toward the building again, then hurried inside as a squad car pulled to the curb.

  CHAD WAS IN THE LIVING room, pacing. He stopped and glanced at her, concern heating his cool eyes. “Is Missy okay?”

  “Yes, thanks to you.” In that instant all her fury at him was lost in the memory of how he’d quieted Missy’s qualms about their argument. “Was he.?”

  Chad nodded, his expression grim.

  “Who was he?”

  “That remains a mystery. He didn’t have any ID on him at all.”

  “What was he doing here?”

  Chad grimaced. “I can only guess.”

  She didn’t want him guessing. All guesses would only lead to something bad involving Missy. “Are the police coming?”

  “They’re here. Outside. They’ll be coming up soon.”

  She shuddered, and he was by her side in an instant, snatching her hands into his. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right here.”

  Gratitude filled her heart and altered her perception of him. Somewhere beneath that appealing face, that sexy male magnetism, beat a human heart—with a soft spot for damsels in distress.

  This damsel, she realized, longed to huddle in his arms, to find that safe haven she’d felt twice before within his embrace. But she hadn’t forgotten the other side of him. Nor that he was a fairly famous reporter. Anxiety stirred anew.

  Chad said, “Why don’t you sit down before you collapse?”

  “Do I look that awful?” She yanked her hand through her loose hair.