Little Girl Lost

by Adrianne Lee

  “He had means, motive and opportunity. And he had a head start on me. It’s real damned likely.”

  Barbara bit her trembling lower lip. “What if we can’t prove it? What if he gets away with this? What if he takes Missy and I never get to see her again?”

  “We just won’t let that happen.” But Chad feared that was exactly what would happen. And soon. He moved toward Barbara and pulled her close again. “There’s nothing we can do about any of this tonight. Tomorrow is another matter. We need to get some sleep.”

  The thought of being held by Chad throughout the night eased Barbara’s jitters. “Yes, I’m beat.”

  But the need for sleep seemed to disappear the moment they slipped naked beneath his bedcovers. They had lit the candles and placed them on the chest of drawers across from the bed. The room was bathed in a creamy glow.

  Chad opened his arms, and Barbara slipped into his embrace, her lips welcoming his gentle kiss. Her insides fluttered with anticipation. Eagerly, she nestled against Chad’s warmth, his desire. Encouraging him with her mouth, her hands, she deepened the kiss, twining her tongue with his, running her fingers through his dense hair.

  Soon glorious sensation washed through her, turning her blood to sweet hot liquid as slow-moving as candied sugar. “Make love to me, Chad, until I can’t feel anything but you.”

  He groaned, a silken growl that carried her myriad cares away like feathers floating on a summer breeze. His fingers skimmed across her back, smoothing down the sensitive flesh to cup her buttocks in both hands. He pulled her to him, his hard need feverish and rigid against her belly.

  Desire coiled in her, quickening as Chad trailed kisses down her neck to the mound of one breast, his tongue laving the taut nipple, his demanding mouth suckling, sparking exquisite tingles that reached to the tips of her toes. All the while, his hands moved lower, grazing her stomach, stroking the tangle of tight curls at the vee of her thighs.

  Gently, she pushed him onto his back and trailed her own kisses down his neck, across his chest, over his flat belly, stroking his need, tasting him. He moaned, murmured her name, the word raspy. Ragged. Urgent. “I want you now.”

  “Me, too.” She began kissing her way back to his mouth. He placed a condom in her hand and a moment later, she straddled his body with hers, lowering herself onto him slowly, savoring their joining, prolonging the rapturous bliss.

  Chad’s eyes glazed with pure joy and she felt certain he was seeing the same in her eyes. She smiled at him, lifting her hips, then plunging downward again and again, gradually increasing the speed of each thrust as the euphoria built to a frenzied pitch.

  Delirium hummed through her, careening her higher into the realm of total pleasure, total joy carrying her over the peak of ecstasy in one exploding release that shuddered through her every limb.

  She felt Chad tighten inside her a second later, his shattering climax bringing her yet another.

  Languid and replete, she collapsed on him, and within minutes was asleep.

  SOMETIME LATER, SHE awoke to find Chad gone. The room was dark, the candles doused. But a thin band of light peeked beneath the bedroom door. She got up and dragged her sleep shirt over her naked body, then went to the window and peered out. A streetlight burned down the way and she could see that the storm had subsided. The rain had diminished to a soft pattering on the sidewalk below.

  With all that she faced in the next few days, she felt nonetheless an odd inner peace. Perhaps it was strength of purpose. Marshall Emerson might have the deck stacked in his favor, but she would do her best to bring down that house of cards. She could barely contain her impatience to talk to Empala Jones.

  Cool air stole over her. She considered climbing back into bed, decided she would rather not be there without Chad, and set out in search of him. She trekked down the hall and peeked in on Missy. The little girl was fast asleep, but had kicked free of the blankets. Barbara smiled, strode to the bed and re-covered her. She stood gazing down at her for a long moment, then kissed her cheek and headed downstairs.

  Voices reached her from the family room. She hesitated. Straining to catch some inflection or word that would identify Chad’s visitor, she realized she was hearing the television. Chad didn’t turn as she approached, his attention stayed riveted to the set. The volume was low, but she saw the news report was about a fire.

  She sauntered up to him, nuzzling his backside, wrapping her arms around his waist. “How come you couldn’t sleep?”

  He didn’t answer, just stood gaping at the TV, his body so rigid. Fingers of anxiety clutched her heart. Something was horribly wrong.

  She released him and stepped forward, flicking her gaze between Chad and the television. “What is it? What is that building?”

  She stared at the screen, past the reporter, her gaze zeroing in on the flames shooting into the night sky. A chill rammed through her. “Oh, my God. It’s the shelter.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tom Ryker, an older, shorter, balder version of his son, grasped Barbara’s hand in greeting and pumped it up and down. His mouth parted in a smile that twinkled in his blue eyes and dented each of his cheeks. “Come on in, ladies. You just call me Tom. No strangers in this house. Lynnie, we’ve got company. Come say hello to Chad’s friends.”

  Tom’s face lit up even brighter as a woman with soft brown hair, graying at the temples, appeared in the kitchen doorway wiping her hands on a terry-cloth apron that hung about her slender waist. The love Barbara felt issuing between these two middle-aged adults awed her.

  “You must be Barbara.” Lynn Ryker approached, proffering her hand in greeting. Her brown eyes were as warm as hot chocolate, her welcome enveloping and genuine. “And you must be Missy.”

  Missy nodded. “Chad said you’re his mom. Are you?”

  Lynn blushed, but she didn’t hesitate. “Yes. And he told me that you like to bake cookies.”

  “I do.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, because I was going to make some cookies this morning and I could really use some help. Would you like to help me?”

  Missy glanced at Barbara. “Can I?”

  “You may.” Barbara smiled gratefully at Lynn.

  Within fifteen minutes, it seemed that Missy had known and liked Chad’s parents all her life. Watching her, Barbara realized the little girl was more adaptable to new environs than she’d anticipated. On a selfish level, the realization broke her heart. But if she had to return her to Marshall, she could console herself that Missy would adjust quickly, and would inevitably survive this fiasco.

  And it had turned into a major fiasco.

  Chad had tried reassuring her about the shelter fire, but this morning, pessimism underscored Barbara’s hopes of learning anything helpful there now. Still, they’d decided to pursue the lead. It was all they had at the moment. And anything was better than standing around waiting for Marshall to act.

  After assuring Missy that they would be gone for only a short while, Chad and Barbara drove to the Seattle waterfront. News vehicles jammed every parking spot, and television personalities—talking to co-workers hoisting minicams—crowded as near the ruined building as possible.

  They found a parking place two blocks over. The nearer they came to the site, the more the damp sea air stank of smoke and ash. Traffic rumbled along the viaduct, the noise muted this morning as though in respect or deference to those who’d lost their lives here last night.

  Barbara’s gaze lifted to the burned-out hulk beyond the knot of people ahead. There had been something surreal about watching the fire on a television newscast, but visiting the scene in person brought the horror home. Her heart clutched.

  What had once been the Sunshine Shelter was now a lopsided pile of blackened bricks, gift-wrapped in yellow police tape. The image of the cabin in Ronald filled Barbara’s mind. She clutched the locket and forced herself to take a deep breath. But the smoke in the air sickened her. The thought that this safe place had been turned into a death trap sic
kened her.

  Chad caught her hand. His solid grip infused her with warmth, reassured her that he would be there—through whatever faced them now.

  He stopped beside a portly man in a rumpled brown corduroy jacket and planted his free hand on the man’s shoulder. “Hello, Brickman.”

  The man jumped and jerked around, his expression brightening at the sight of Chad. Barbara recognized this man. He was the reporter who had stopped by their table at the Sunset Café in Cle Elum a few days ago and told her Chad worked for the Courier.

  “Hey, Ryker.” Brickman beamed. “We’ve got to quit meeting like this. People will start talking.”

  Chad nodded toward the building, his eyes narrowed, bleak. He kept his voice low. “So, what’s the story?”

  The reporter’s beetle brows lifted. He glanced around as though to see who might be listening. “Unofficially?”

  Chad gazed down at him. “Sure.”

  “I’ve heard some whisperings about arson.”

  “Arson?” Barbara gaped at the fleshy-faced man. Her heart tripped. Her throat tightened. She’d heard that word once too often in the past week. “Does anyone kn-know what became of the director of the shelter?”

  “Haven’t heard.” Brickman grimaced. “But all the survivors were taken to Harborview. You might check there.”

  “Thanks, Don,” Chad said softly.

  Brickman’s eyebrows rose again at Chad’s use of his first name. “Anytime.”

  On the drive to Harborview Medical Center, the horror of the fire replayed through Barbara’s mind like a scratched record stuck in one track. Her insides quivered. “What are the chances that Empala was among the five who died last night?”

  “We’re not going there.” Chad’s voice rang with optimism, accentuating her own discouragement. He smiled and squeezed her knee. “You keep the faith. We’ll find the proof we need against Marshall.”

  Did he really believe that? Or was he trying to raise her spirits? Her hopes? She sighed, loving him for his efforts. But she knew the foolishness of depending on love in return. The armor around his heart was impenetrable. He would never look at her the way his father looked at Lynn, would never let himself love anyone wholeheartedly.

  Besides, real troubles loomed ahead for her. Even if Chad would be willing to stand by her, she would never ask it of him. She could be facing a jail sentence.

  Trying not to think of that, she watched the flow of pedestrian traffic cross in front of them as they waited for the light to change. “It sure seems fortunate for the Emersons that someone set fire to the shelter last night.”

  A chill swept Chad’s heart. He doubted dumb luck had had anything to do with the fire. Anger and guilt twisted his gut. When he’d talked to Vic last night he’d mentioned the shelter by name.said they would be visiting it for information this morning. He would bet his next paycheck that his boss had passed that tidbit on to his friend Marsh.

  If he had, and if Marshall Emerson was behind the arson, then Vic Lansing was as guilty of murder as if he’d struck the match himself. Chad considered calling Vic and asking him. It wouldn’t be the kind of evidence the police required to bring charges, but it would confirm it for him. Then he would have to figure out some way to find legitimate proof.

  He pulled into the hospital parking area. The thunder of helicopter rotors shredded the morning air and announced incoming work for Harborview’s impressive trauma team. Chad and Barbara strode into the lobby, which bustled with the activity of a hotel in convention frenzy.

  With her nerves aching, Barbara followed Chad to the information desk, then stood back clutching her hands together as he inquired about Empala Jones.

  “Well, let’s see, now.” The woman behind the desk shoved her glasses up the length of her narrow nose, and peered at the computer screen to her right. “Jones, Jones. Hmm. James, Jennings, Johanson, Johnson. Ah, here we are. Jones. Empala Jones.”

  Relief flooded Barbara, and she said a silent prayer of thanks that the woman who’d done so much good for others had been spared an unthinkable death.

  The woman abandoned the computer screen. Her gaze shifted to Chad’s and she gave them the room number. “You’ll have to check with the ward nurse as to whether or not she can have visitors.”

  THE WARD NURSE, a woman as round as she was tall, eyed the flowering plant they’d purchased in the gift shop, and nodded her head. “She’d probably love some company. Don’t make her talk, though. Smoke inhalation. Her throat is real sore yet.”

  “But she’ll be all right?” Barbara wanted reassurance.

  “She’s a fighter, that one. She saved a lot of lives last night.” The nurse grinned. “I hear the mayor’s gonna give her a medal.”

  Empala sat propped up in bed, her milk chocolate skin a pasty gray from her ordeal. Red veins tracked her startlingly amber eyes, and weariness etched her full mouth. Her short black hair had streaks of gray now. Otherwise, five years had aged her little.

  She gazed at them as one did strangers, and Barbara realized that she, herself, looked completely different than the last time Empala had seen her. “Hi, Empala. It’s me, Barbara Dawson.”

  Empala shook her head as though the name meant nothing to her.

  “When you knew me five years ago I had a bleached-blond crew cut.” Barbara grimaced at the memory.

  Empala studied her face and reached for her hair. Barbara laughed. “My natural color.”

  The woman’s eyes grew serious as she studied Barbara’s face, then suddenly widened. She croaked, “Thought you…dead!”

  “Nope. Just missing in action for a while.” Barbara tapped the side of her head. “Amnesia.”

  Sympathy filled Empala’s eyes, followed by a questioning lift of her eyebrows.

  “I’m fine now.” Barbara smiled and set the plant on the windowsill, then turned toward her companion. “This is my friend, Chad Ryker, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Jones.” Chad stepped forward.

  “We’d like to ask you a few questions if you’re up to it.” Barbara returned to the side of the bed.

  Empala touched her throat.

  “We know,” Chad assured her. “We don’t want to cause you any discomfort. Maybe you could just nod or shake your head?”

  She nodded.

  “We heard about the fire,” Barbara said. “That it might be arson.”

  Empala nodded. “Smelled.gas. Splashed.on building.” Her voice broke off and a pained expression crossed her face as she swallowed hard.

  “The fire investigators will likely prove you’re right.” Chad raised his hand to silence her. “But please don’t try talking.”

  Tears flowed down Empala’s cheeks and she shook her head. “Couldn’t save ev—”

  “Hush, now. You did save lives last night,” Barbara said, guessing that the woman was upset because she hadn’t been able to prevent the five deaths. “No one would have survived without you.”

  Empala closed her eyes and they gave her a moment to gather her strength. Finally, Barbara asked, “Do you recall Saucy Sue?”

  Empala opened her eyes, the amber as deep and clear and curious as a cat’s eyes. She nodded her head slightly, frowning.

  Barbara drew a steadying breath. “She always ran around with Ritzy.”

  Empala nodded, her frown deepening to a scowl.

  “We think she may not have died from pneumonia,” Chad said.

  “There’s some question about the doctor I brought in to help her,” Barbara added, her heart heavy with guilt.

  Utter confusion sprang to Empala’s face.

  “We were hoping you might have had some clue that could help us find the truth—like a memory of Dr. Emerson’s second visit to the shelter.”

  Empala shook her head as though not certain what they wanted from her.

  Barbara asked, “Can you recall that morning at all?”

  She made a face that said, “Vaguely.”

  “Try and think back,” Barbara pleade
d, desperation gnawing at her. “A little girl’s life depends on this. My little girl.”

  Empala’s eyebrows twitched. She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes again. Barbara couldn’t tell whether the woman was trying to think or was just exhausted.

  Chad whispered, “Maybe we should leave. Let her rest.”

  “No,” Empala rasped. “Ask.”

  Hope stirred in Barbara. “Did Dr. Emerson’s actions that day seem furtive or suspicious in any way?”

  Empala considered for a long moment, then seemed to sag as she slowly shook her head, looking apologetic.

  “A DEAD END,” BARBARA said once they were back in the hall, her voice ringing with the frustration and despair tangling her insides. “I’m afraid he’s covered his tracks so well there just isn’t any evidence to find.”

  “How he acted isn’t proof of anything anyway,” Chad said, catching her by the arm and gently pulling her against his side. He gazed down at her with confidence gleaming in his eyes. “Bonze will have those newspaper photographs for us sometime today. If you can identify Suzanne Emerson as Saucy Sue, that should stimulate sufficient suspicion to interest the police.”

  They headed out of the hospital and back into the cold damp morning. Near the entrance to Emergency, a knot of people swelled and ebbed as they hurried in and out of the doors. Barbara assumed the activity had resulted from whatever accident the helicopters were responding to when they’d arrived.

  Chad released her and they wove through the crush. Lost in thought, Barbara took long strides, moving too quickly for the foot traffic. She careened into someone, and reached out instinctively to steady the person, only then looking at whom she’d collided with, only then catching the stench of soiled clothing, an unwashed body.

  “Don’t,” the woman insisted, her pale blue eyes burning accusingly into Barbara.

  There was something eerily familiar about those pale blue eyes. Why? Shock slid through Barbara. “Ritzy?”

  “Don’t touch Ritzy.” Ritzy knocked Barbara’s hands aside. “Ritzy don’t like being touched.”