by Bonnie Vanak
Nausea roiled in her stomach. “Is she...still missing?”
Please don’t tell me she was found dead.
“No. The mother said she turned up two days later on the front lawn. Someone dumped her there, alive but drugged. The mother was afraid to go to the police. It wasn’t until Nancy told an aunt what happened that the family did finally contact the local police.”
“I’ll look her up on the system.”
“You can look all of them up on the system,” he shot back.
Hard to argue with that.
They returned to her office, but the database was slow today. As he read off the names, Belle pulled the paper chart instead from the bank of filing cabinets in the cramped room where they kept medical records. The first two girls were here for routine exams and regular patients. Nothing stood out.
Nancy was a new patient.
“Here. Nancy Hernandez. Age six, dark hair, green eyes. I have all her vitals. Dr. Patterson examined her, prescribed antibiotics.”
“No follow-up visit?”
“None. She was here January 23.” Belle dreaded the answer, but had to ask. “What was in Nancy’s system when she was found?”
“Propofol.”
Oh dear. The dots connected; she knew this didn’t look good, even if they were innocent. “Do you think the theft and Nancy’s disappearance are connected?”
“It could be the start of a child-trafficking ring.”
Belle set the file down, her nausea increasing. “One centered on this clinic? Are children who are abducted usually okay?”
The grimness on his face didn’t reassure her. “Most children are found alive.”
“And the others?”
“You don’t want to know.” Anderson took out his cell phone, glanced at it.
“But Nancy was found alive and at her parents’ house.”
“It could be because she was too young for their purposes. Or that she was too ill. She had to be hospitalized.”
That chest cold might have turned into pneumonia if the child was exposed to the elements. “Is Nancy going to be all right? Did she suffer...any other trauma?”
Anderson rubbed his jaw. “No. No bruises or sexual molestation. She was released yesterday. Says she doesn’t remember anything, just a needle prick. Her mother is afraid to let her out of her sight.”
Poor girl. But at least she was alive. “Of course we’ll help in any way possible.”
“Huh. That’s not what your Dr. Patterson said when detectives questioned him after Nancy’s mother reported the crime.”
Belle bristled. “Dr. Patterson was in the midst of a family crisis. His uncle was dying from cancer and he was trying to wrap up his cases and file insurance claims.”
Agent Anderson gave her a long, thoughtful look. “You always get so defensive, Doc?”
“Damn right I do.”
Then his expression hardened. “Your clinic is suspect, Dr. North. I’m watching you. I’m leaving, but I’ll be back.”
She scowled. “Don’t let the door hit you in the butt, cowboy.”
The slightest smile quirked his full mouth. “That’s agent to you.”
The remark and that smile took her off guard. Belle pushed a hand through her bangs.
“Well, fine, Agent Cowboy.”
Another quirk of his full mouth. Then the serious look was back, as if he regretted showing a human face. But wow, for a moment, that smile turned him into a man she wanted to know better.
Good thing he’d stopped smiling.
He removed a card from his back pocket. “If you see or hear or even smell anything suspicious, anything, call me. I mean it. Anything.”
As he handed her the card, their fingers touched and her nerve endings tingled. Such chemistry. Belle’s heart pounded harder from that brief contact. Anderson looked rattled, as if it affected him, as well. The spicy scent of his cologne wound around her, and she found herself staring at his blue-and-white-checked tie. The whimsical pattern contrasted with the hardened image he presented.
Yet he’d been so gentle, almost tender, with Cathy.
Dismissing Anderson from her mind soon as he walked away, Belle returned to work.
By the time she got home later that day, exhaustion claimed her. Yet if she skipped dinner with her family, she’d never hear the end of it. Belle kicked off her shoes and sat on the sofa. Boo jumped up beside her, wagging his tail.
She closed her eyes for a moment.
When she woke, it was well after nine that evening. Cringing, Belle checked her messages. Five voice mails.
Belle called her mother to apologize, but Shirley Vandermeer North had none of it.
“We waited to have dinner for an hour, Belle. The least you could do was to call and let me know you decided to avoid me.” That crisp, condemning tone made her wince, feel all of five years old again.
“I worked a long day, Mom, and I fell asleep. Sorry.”
“You need to stop working there, Belle. Stop going to the clinic. If you would only...”
Belle tuned her out, letting her drone on and on. She held the phone up to Boo. “Here, you want to listen to her for a while?” she whispered.
Boo whined. Belle sighed, set the phone down on the sofa. After ten minutes she picked it up.
Her mother still droned on. Nothing stopped Shirley Vandermeer North from her favorite pastime—lecturing her only daughter.
“I will be expecting you for my monthly tea tomorrow at four o’clock sharp. Mindy Worthington and Natalie Haven will be there. They wish to say hello to you.”
Her mother’s favorite society friends always eyeballed her for volunteering for their numerous charity committees. Saying “hello” was a signal the ladies wanted her help.
I’ll be damned if I stop working at the clinic to sell tickets for a raffle or attend another drab charity ball.
“I’m going to bed, Mother. I’ll see you tomorrow at four.”
She hung up.
Belle slept deeply that night, and when dawn streaked fingers of rose and lavender across the gray sky, she rose to take her usual jog. She ran, showered and then dressed, grabbing her doctor’s coat to take to the cleaner’s.
Suddenly she remembered the tightly folded paper in her pocket. Anna had insisted she take it home and put it on her refrigerator.
Belle opened the paper, expecting to see a childish rendering of a brown dog.
But under the drawing of Boo, the words penned in red crayon sent her heart rate soaring. The paper fluttered to the floor as she stumbled backward.
HE SAYS HE WILL KILL MAMA IF I DON’T GO WITH HIM. HELP US. PLEASE.
Chapter 4
He hated waking up in a strange bed. Hated that horrid feeling of confusion, not knowing where he was before his gray matter clicked in.
Hated running out of hot water during his shower, too.
And not having any regular coffee didn’t make it better.
Life could be worse. Had been worse. He’d learned to deal.
Clad only in gray sweatpants, Kyle padded around the kitchen in his bare feet. He finally found a half-opened can of instant decaf, added it to a cup of microwaved hot water. Then he took the case file on Nancy Hernandez and went out onto the lanai.
Dawn had broken over the horizon, streaking the sky with color. A hint of humidity lingered in the air, enough to balance the cool breeze. Another glorious day in South Florida, and he had no clue why someone had abducted Nancy Hernandez and then dumped her like a sack of trash on her family’s lawn.
He didn’t want to work this case. It scrambled his emotions, made everything in his finally well-ordered world go haywire.
No choice. Children’s lives were at stake and he’d made a promise to always save the ones who could be saved.
Florida was different from the catatonic pa
ce of the field office in the Midwest, where he’d worked for the past year. Even though it was early February, the snow piled hip deep in front of his apartment, he didn’t want to come here. Hell, he’d had enough of living in Florida after his personal life went to hell.
But his supervisor ordered him back to Florida two months ago. He was good at tracking down missing children and he was needed on the East Coast.
If the abduction of Nancy Hernandez proved a puzzle, then the abduction of two other girls her age was downright troubling.
Both girls were last seen visiting the clinic. Both had walked there, since it was in their neighborhood. Their mothers had been distracted near the clinic by a man who stopped in his car to ask for directions in Spanish. They had walked to the corner, a bare few feet away, to point out the road to the man, who’d then driven away. When the mothers turned around, the girls were gone.
Whoever did this had to be working as a team, and the team had either watched the clinic or the team worked there.
The other two girls, unlike Nancy, were healthy, but for the copious amounts of Propofol in their bloodstreams. Kyle worried that the next kid to suffer the same fate might have a reaction, and end up dead.
Who was taking little girls and why? Were they part of a child-pornography ring? The Bureau had checked constantly, but nothing showed up.
Yet.
Kyle stared at the photos of the three girls, silently thankful they were all found alive, if not that they were filled with terror over their experience. All of them had dark hair, blue or green eyes and they were between five and six.
Whoever had kidnapped these girls did so for a reason. The low-income areas where they lived were frequently targets for crime, but not something this bizarre.
Was a local gang looking to steal young girls for a pornography operation?
Or worse?
Flipping through the file brought no new answers. The local cops had set up a missing-persons hotline for people to leave anonymous tips in either English and Spanish. No leads there yet.
He sipped his coffee, staring at the palm trees in the backyard. The pool pump hummed, another reminder he was far from the Midwest.
Someone who worked at the clinic had to have known the kids, had to have known the parents and lured them away. What about that pretty blonde doctor?
Dr. Belle North. Tall and shapely, with warm brown eyes and a sweet expression, when she talked with children. With him? Colder than the Arctic. The man in him responded to her warm laugh, her gentle manner with the children and that sexy wiggle to her hips when she walked.
The calculating FBI agent in him saw a person of interest in the only thread tying this case together. The Harold Donald Free Clinic had to be the contact place for the abductions.
But the sexy and alluring Dr. North was the first woman to truly capture his jaded interest in three years. Roarke had commented on it at the office.
“Pretty doc, huh? Even Mr. Grumpy Pants here thought so,” he’d teased.
Kyle didn’t mind, only because Roarke knew how the accident had mauled his spirit. Roarke had been there the day they lowered Caroline into her grave, and later when he’d buried little Kasey...
Don’t go there.
He studied the photos of the clinic’s exterior, entry and exit points. He tapped the file folder, lost in thought when his cell rang. Kyle glanced at the number.
Dr. Belle North.
Pulse racing, he answered. “Anderson.”
Kyle listened, his palm growing clammy. “Give me your address.”
He hung up soon as she finished. Dressing took five minutes and then he climbed into his department-issued black SUV.
Half an hour later, Kyle pulled into the driveway of a modest single-story home with tropical plants flanking the yard. No gated community, no cookie-cutter houses like he’d come to expect in other neighborhoods. It was the kind of neighborhood he liked, but one that didn’t fit the high pay grade of a working physician.
Kyle was nearly at the front door when it opened, revealing a worried Dr. North clad in a sleeveless peacock blue dress, elegant blue high heels and stockings that clung to her shapely legs. He couldn’t help an admiring second look.
“Nice dress. Church?” he asked.
Her pretty mouth quirked. “Brunch with friends.”
Then the worry lines returned. “Please, come in.”
He respected the fact she looked fresh, awake and lovely at this hour on a Sunday. He usually looked bleary-eyed and moved like a zombie until coffee fueled his system.
More surprises inside the house. She led him into a living room with a blue sofa that had a small tear in one cushion, and the Berber carpet was old and worn. No pictures on the white walls, but seashells adorned several baskets set about the room. Boo slept on a dog bed in front of a fireplace that hadn’t been cleaned. A vase of daisies sat on an antique table near the picture window.
Belle sat on the powder blue armchair while he sank down onto the sofa. “It’s temporary. I’m renting until I leave for a residency match. Whenever I can get one.”
He could appreciate temporary. “The note?”
Biting her lower lip, she snapped on latex gloves lying on an end table and then handed the drawing to him. “I’m sorry I got fingerprints on it from previously.”
A small smile quirked his mouth. “No problem. You always have gloves in the house?”
“I am a doctor. Well, MD. I have the title but not the license until I complete my residency.” She studied him with those incredible dark eyes, such a contrast to her pale skin and fair hair. “Would you like a pair?”
He dug out disposable gloves from his jacket pocket. “Brought my own.”
Her smile did something to him, twisted him into knots. Kyle looked at the drawing. Large block letters, written in haste with a shaky hand. Poor kid probably was terrified.
Yet filled with courage. It took bravery to do this.
A soft sigh filled the air. Belle. So absorbed in the drawing, he’d almost forgotten she was there. But yet it was impossible to fully forget, for her presence was a lingering sweet fragrance.
Kyle became aware of the fresh, subtle scent of her perfume. Not overbearing or cloying, but delicate. So feminine. He felt like a big bear with giant paws compared to the slightness of her slender fingers.
“I’ll send this to the lab, see if they can pull any other prints off it,” he told her.
“Save the effort. The only two people handling the drawing were myself and Anna.”
Damn. He’d hoped for more evidence. “Who was with her in the room when you examined her?”
“Family friend who claimed he was there to interpret.” Belle frowned. “He said his name was John Smith. I sent him and the mother out of the room with a distraction so I could perform a thorough exam.”
Belle’s troubled gaze met his. “Anna was quite nervous, so I wanted to rule out abuse.”
This was news. Kyle leaned forward. “Was there any?”
“No. She showed no psychological signs of it, either, when I questioned her. The friend was brusque, but that’s not unusual. We get a few macho men who are embarrassed to use the clinic’s low-cost services.”
She snapped off the gloves and set them on the table. “I wish I had detained him. If only I knew!”
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said quietly. “There was probably nothing you could have done.”
“I feel like I could have done more.”
“What does Anna look like?” He dreaded and knew the answer already.
“She’s six years old, dark hair, green eyes. Thin, about thirty-nine inches tall, weighs thirty-seven pounds.”
All the other girls who’d been abducted were in the same age, height and weight range.
“I did write down his license plate.”
“The license provided on the paperwork?” Most likely false.
Belle shook her head. “The one I saw on the car. Just to be safe, I jotted down the number after I gave Anna’s mom the prescriptions she needed. I sent them to Skipper’s Pharmacy. I have an arrangement to give certain patients free meds.”
Kyle stopped scribbling on his notepad. “You have the full plate number?”
At her nod, he felt a wave of relief. First real break they’d had in the case. “I could kiss you for that.”
Her cheeks pinked to a delicate flush as she handed him the paper. Clearing his throat, he jotted down more notes.
That was much more than he could have hoped for. He called the local police department they’d been working with to have them run the plate.
The news was disappointing, but expected. He thumbed off the phone. “Stolen.”
Still, they could trace it, see if any security cameras in the area picked up the truck’s movements.
Belle rose. “I made a fresh pot of coffee. Would you like a cup?”
Kyle glanced up. “You’re a lifesaver. All I had in the house was decaf.”
“Horrors. Sounds like a torture chamber.”
He grinned. “No cream, two sugars.”
By the time she returned with two mugs of steaming coffee, he’d analyzed the drawing. Kyle sipped his coffee, thanked her and pointed to the rendering on the paper.
“Smart girl. She drew the dog, but not how you’d expect. Most kids draw objects and include things from their ordinary world—mothers, fathers, siblings, friends. Their house. Two-story or one-story. Stuff they’re familiar with—even their school, teachers. This doesn’t look like a typical home. See those bushes and the water and that triangle with the number eight?”
Joining him on the sofa, Belle peered at the drawing. The close proximity of her made him fully aware of the scent of her perfume, the softness of her skin as her bare arm brushed his. She pointed to the triangle. “Does it mean something? What’s the number eight? A symbol?”
“Maybe. What was her appearance like? Tell me whatever you can about her.”
“I thought she’d been abused because she seemed scared and her father was gruff. Her appearance struck me as homeless.”