Little Girl Lost

by Adrianne Lee

  Frustration wound through Barbara, much as the car wound through the twists and turns of the poorly lit road. She hugged herself. “Do you really think we stand a chance of proving any of this?”

  “We’re sure gonna try.” He reached over and touched her knee, the warmth of his hand penetrating her jeans, sending reassuring heat through her chilled limbs. Even in the dark, she could tell he was looking at her. “Together we’ve got a better chance.”

  Together. The word gathered like a fuzzy shawl around her heart, as though she were understanding its true definition for the very first time. Again, her hand stole to the golden locket nestled between her breasts, its weight and cool finish reassuring—as though a piece of her mother were with her at all times.

  But it didn’t ease the loneliness the way Chad did.

  Despite having friends, during the past five years she’d often felt alone. Then Chad Ryker had forced his way into her life. Had made her need him. Rely on him. Trust him. Together, they would search for the truth about Marshall.

  She placed her hand over Chad’s, and in that instant, she realized she was falling in love with him. That knowledge snatched the fuzzy warmth from her heart. Scared her as much as contemplating their upcoming investigation.

  “Here we are.” Chad pulled the car to a stop before a closed garage door.

  His house, nestled in a suburb on East Hill in Kent, was surrounded by dozens of similar two-story single-family dwellings, each indistinguishable from its neighbor. And yet, as Barbara stared at it through the rain-slicked windshield, she felt the difference. This was his house. The home of the man who was slowly stealing her heart.

  She should have insisted on staying in a motel. She reached for the seat-belt buckle. Moving in, even for two days, was only encouraging heartache. His house would reveal intimacies of Chad’s life, things he hadn’t told her or shared with her, things that would make her feel closer to him.

  More connected to him.

  She didn’t want to feel connected to him. What would happen when their investigation of Marshall was over? Her throat tightened. She knew exactly what would happen. Chad Ryker would walk back out of her life.

  Hell, he’d run.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lightning split the darkness and the resounding thunderclap that followed an instant later shattered Barbara’s dark musing. She swallowed hard, jarred by a second booming crash, then a third. In the next moment, rain hit the roof of Chad’s car in a torrent that sounded like bullets dropping from the sky.

  “Whew.” He laughed. “We’d better park inside.”

  The garage door slid open, illuminating an unfinished interior large enough for two vehicles; except for a push lawn mower and a broom, however, it was empty. Chad angled his car into the center of the garage. The rumble of the door closing behind them quickly muffled the downpour.

  “I’ll turn on the heat and a few lights, then come back and carry Missy upstairs.”

  He returned a moment later. Missy, still asleep, snuggled against him as he lifted her from the back seat. It struck Barbara that the little girl was becoming as attached to Chad as she was. She prayed they wouldn’t both have their hearts broken by him. She could handle it. Missy could not. Hefting their bag from the floor of the car, she followed. She had only packed enough clothes for both of them for two days, and the bag weighed next to nothing.

  The garage led into a kitchen-and-family-room combination. Barbara had the impression of lots of oak and tile, everything pale and pristine. A leather sofa and end table looked new, unused; barstools and a dinette set seemed functional without being stylish, the big-screen television nothing more than a black box. The only personal touch was the array of framed photographs on the fireplace mantel, none of which she could make out now.

  Later, she promised herself, hurrying after Chad into a formal foyer and up a curving staircase to the second floor. The carpet was forest green, as deep and plush as a path in the woods. For some reason she’d pictured him living amid the gray blues she favored—though why she’d decided that, she couldn’t imagine…unless, perhaps, because he’d seemed so at ease in her apartment.

  So far, the one thing she’d guessed right about his house was that he kept it tidy. Maybe too tidy. What she’d seen lacked a feeling of occupancy, as though Chad visited his home instead of lived in it.

  The rain was louder upstairs, pummeling the roof like the hooves of some wild creature seeking entrance. Barbara shivered inside her parka.

  “We’ll put her here.” Chad shoved open a door. The room was small, barely accommodating the queen-size bed and six-drawer dresser squared off against each other on opposing walls. Bare, white walls. The comforter and matching drapes were ecru with a forest green pinstripe. The result was cool, reserved, as though Chad didn’t want his guests making themselves too comfortable, as though he were saying, Visit, but don’t stay too long. Don’t get too close.

  She’d already gotten too close.

  “Mommy?” Missy squirmed and rubbed at her eyes. “Where are we?”

  “We’re at Chad’s house, sweet pea.”

  “In my guest room.” Chad stepped back. “Why don’t I leave you to get her settled? I want to check my phone messages and make a couple of calls.”

  “Sure.”

  “Night, Missy.”

  “Night, Chad.” Missy struggled to her elbow and looked around the room.

  Barbara set the bag down on the foot of the bed, unzipped it and pulled a stuffed toy free. “Here’s Mr. Bear. I’ll help you get your jammies on and then tuck you in and read you a story. I brought The Big Red Kite.”

  “Okay,” Missy said on a yawn.

  Barbara began helping the child out of her clothes, but her mind was on Chad. She realized he didn’t intend for her to share this room with Missy. Was she crazy to feel delighted by that? Certifiable, no doubt. But her life the past five years had held little joy and less self-indulgence. Zero spontaneity.

  Besides, she’d known the thrills and the risks when she’d bought her ticket and climbed on this roller coaster. Heartache was inevitable. But she might as well enjoy the ride until it was time to get off. Wind howled against the window, a stark reminder of how brutal the future might be. When this was over, she would need every warm memory just to get through the long lonely nights.

  HEAVY BURGUNDY VELVET drapes covered the French doors in Chad’s office, but the wind howled against the glass like a disembodied voice, sending a shiver through him. He strode to his wide mahogany desk—an antique of French design, a gift from his dad and his most prized possession. The office, a room the builder had intended as a formal dining area, looked as though the wind had swept through it.

  It was the one room in the house where he actually worked and lived. Papers, files, books were everywhere, but he knew where everything was. He laid his laptop on the desk and began connecting cords to ports. He glanced at his answering machine. The red light blinked a dozen times, then repeated the count.

  He pushed the button. Several of the messages were from his boss, Vic Lansing. He decided he’d better call him, but first he wanted to talk to a lawyer and find out what Barbara was facing.

  Adam de Wolfe, a highly respected Seattle attorney, played golf every week with Chad’s dad. Chad and he had gotten friendly on those occasions when Chad had filled in for one or the other of the weekly foursome. Adam was in his late thirties and knew the law forward and backward.

  “Hello.” Adam’s deep bass stirred images of television courtroom dramas. He might have been a stage actor or a radio personalty with that rich voice. But his clever mind would never have been satisfied living by other people’s scripts.

  “Adam, sorry to bother you at home.” Chad settled down in his chair and reached for a pencil and pad. He began stating the problems facing Barbara.

  “Criminal impersonation in the first degree is a gross misdemeanor,” Adam said. “She could be fined and prosecuted. A judge might take pity on her bec
ause of the amnesia. You never know.”

  Chad prayed the judge would be lenient. Especially if they could find proof that she had reason to fear Marshall Emerson finding her.

  “As to the other matter, she is definitely guilty of custodial interference,” Adam continued. “All the father has to do is call the police and have the child picked up. He doesn’t have to allow your friend one minute with his daughter ever again, if he’s so inclined. As for what criminal charges she might be facing in that area, I’ll do some checking in the morning and get back to you.”

  “Thanks, Adam.” With a sinking heart, Chad hung up. What lay ahead for Barbara? Why did he feel the need to stick by her, no matter what? When had she stolen past his self-protective defenses? Gotten under his skin? Into his heart? He could almost picture her, innocently tucking Missy into bed, a child that wasn’t hers, a child that would remain in her custody only as long as Marshall Emerson dictated.

  Why was life so unfair? Why were the wrong people parents?

  He shoved the tablet aside. He had better call Vic. It wouldn’t do to keep putting off talking to him. It was after nine, but he decided to try the paper first, and wasn’t surprised to find the conscientious editor at his desk. “Vic, this is Ryker.”

  “It’s about bloody time,” his boss’s crusty voice grumbled down the line. “Where the hell have you been?”

  Chad’s hackles rose. He was in no mood for a dressingdown. “You’re the one who insisted I take vacation days to go after the Kayleen Emerson story—which by the way put me on scene for that crash of those three semi-trucks the other night on Interstate 90. I was obliged to cover the story—on my own time—and I expect to be paid handsomely for it.”

  “Just turn in the voucher,” Vic snapped. “Now, when are you getting back to work?”

  “I’m already back. I’m following a new lead.”

  “A new lead? What happened to the original one?”

  “Kayleen Emerson was murdered before I could talk to her.” And find out what she had on the good doctor.

  Vic drew a sharp breath. “Why didn’t I hear about it?”

  “No one knows who she really was.yet.”

  Silence greeted this statement. Then Vic coughed. “We’ve got an exclusive?”

  “Yes, but I’m still doing some investigating before I have the full story. Meanwhile, it would be wise to keep this under wraps.”

  “What exactly are you investigating, Ryker?”

  Chad rolled the pencil between his finger and thumb. “Marshall Emerson’s background.”

  Vic made a noise that sounded like a growl. “I really resent your going after my friend.”

  “I’m sorry, Vic.” Chad kept his voice even, deliberately tempering the next words. “But you might need to come up with a new criterion for picking your friends.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Chad hesitated, tapping the pencil on the edge of his desk. “I think it’s highly possible that Dr. Emerson killed his missing cousin for the fortune he recently inherited.”

  “Whoa! That is absurd.”

  “No. It’s not.” Chad tapped the pencil harder. “We have proof that the cousin was a homeless woman at the Sunshine Shelter on the waterfront.”

  “That doesn’t mean—”

  “Marshall was brought to the aid of this homeless woman when she collapsed at the shelter. While he was examining her, she called him a nickname only those who knew him as a child would have known. Although she greeted the next day showing signs of recovery, she died shortly after Emerson’s second visit to her. I’m checking it out first thing in the morning.”

  “Forget it. Or I’ll tell Marsh that you’re still after him.”

  “Still?” The nerves in Chad’s neck tensed. He stopped tapping the pencil. “When did you tell him I was after him?”

  “I called Marshall before you took off for Cle Elum.”

  “What!” Chad rocked up and out of his chair. “You did what?”

  “You’re talking about the man who saved my life in Vietnam. I owed him. I called and told him you’d located his ex-wife outside of Cle Elum.”

  “Vic, how could you?” The pencil snapped in Chad’s grip. “That was unethical. Unprofessional.”

  “I won’t be lectured by the likes of you on ethics or professionalism. Last time I looked, I was your boss, Ryker.”

  “Well, ‘boss.”‘ Chad’s voice shook with his rage. “Did you also go through my desk and give him the name she was hiding under?”

  Vic had the decency to hesitate, then said with an edge of self-righteousness in his voice, “How else was he going to contact her?”

  The bottom dropped out of Chad’s stomach, dragging him back into his chair as the implications of Vic Lansing’s deed weighed him down. “How could yo—?”

  “I’m not going to defend my actions to you, Ryker. Marsh Emerson is my friend. I did what any friend would have done under the circumstances.”

  Lightning flashed outside. The phone crackled and went dead. Chad sat clutching the receiver as though he were frozen.

  BARBARA TUCKED THE covers up to Missy’s chin and turned down the bedside light. She stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door nearly closed, then pressed farther down the hallway until she came to the master bedroom. She stepped inside. She expected to find a king-size bed, but was surprised.

  A brass bed, no larger than the queen-size one Missy slept in, dominated the room. The spread was simple—velvet, a soft green shades lighter than the forest green carpet. On the chest of drawers were photographs—all framed in brass. Barbara moved closer. The first one was of an older man and woman. Several pictures were of Chad and the same older man. She could see the resemblance and supposed this man was his father, guessed the woman was his stepmom.

  There were also framed snapshots of Chad with a diverse collection of world leaders, his age and the year discernible by the varying length of his hair. She moved slowly from photograph to photograph, studying each, gaining respect for Chad and the work he did. He’d led an exciting life. Traveled the world. Met famous people. Made others famous with his stories. All of those experiences had shaped his life and his attitudes and resulted in the man he was today.

  Thunder crashed across the roof, then turned into a low rumbling like the grumbling belly of some huge, starving beast. Barbara trembled, feeling as though she’d been chastized for snooping into some private corner of Chad’s life. But now that she’d started, she couldn’t get enough. It was dangerous, she warned herself. Dangerous to let his essence seep into her soul and take root.

  She returned to the hall and headed for the stairs. The lights flickered, then burned bright again. Alarmed by the idea of the power failing and thrusting her into total darkness, she quickened her steps, hurried down the stairs and searched through the house for him.

  She found him in his office, replacing the telephone receiver. “Oh, I should call Edie and let her know we made it here without any trouble.”

  “Sorry.” He grimaced. “The storm just blew out the phone.”

  “Really?” Her concerns about the power failing leaped to the forefront of her mind again. “Does that happen often?”

  “Almost never.” Chad shoved out of his chair and stood. “There was a big burst of lightning a split second before it died. Must have hit something. You could use my cell phone, but the battery is charging. Too low right now. If the power stays on, it should be charged by morning.”

  “Do you have any candles?”

  He smiled at her, as though recalling the scented candle that had burned during their lovemaking. “Nothing fancy like you have.”

  A warm glow swirled through her belly. “We may need them just the same.”

  She followed him into the utility room. Two six-inch white tapers, standing in brass holders, rested on a cupboard shelf. He carried them into the kitchen and began digging in a drawer for matches. The lights flickered again.

  Barbara glanced un
easily at the windows, then back at Chad. Worry lines etched the corners of his eyes, held his firm lips taut. She doubted his anxiety stemmed from the possibility of losing the electricity. “What’s the matter, Chad? You seem edgy.”

  Rain slammed the windows. Wind screamed against the house. He shrugged. “Just the storm.”

  She didn’t believe him. “You aren’t the type of man who’s bothered by bad weather. What’s going on?”

  He abandoned the search for matches, crossed to her and folded her into his arms. The gesture was meant to comfort; it only increased her concern. “Chad, please, you’re scaring me.”

  He released her and leaned against the counter. “My boss told Marshall about Kayleen’s call to me.”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  Chad released a heaving breath. “Vic told Marshall where she was and the alias she was using.”

  “Oh, my God, no!” Barbara slapped a hand over her mouth as shock and horror shot through her, slamming the full meaning of this home. “We eliminated him as a suspect in Mom’s and Kayleen’s murders because he couldn’t have known those names or their whereabouts.”

  Chad nodded. “The reason I suspected him in the first place was because I thought it was possible that he or someone he knew had seen Kayleen in Cle Elum, recognized her and was following her. She had sounded like she was afraid someone would catch her talking to me on the phone.”

  “Maybe she’d seen Marshall.”

  “Or Elvis,” Chad suggested.

  “Or maybe she was just scared.” A sour sensation swam through Barbara’s stomach.

  Chad narrowed his eyes, recalling something else. “When he came to your apartment yesterday, Marshall acted as if he hadn’t heard of me. It was a lie. He knew exactly who I was the moment I told him my name. And he knew what I was doing with you.”

  She raised her eyes to Chad’s. “Did he hire Dean Ray Staples to murder Kayleen and Mom?”