Brad wasn’t certain he really wanted to hear the answer to his next question. “Does anyone have a key to your apartment?”
“There’s a spare at my parents, and Teri has the other.”
“You’d better check on both.”
“Brad, I don’t think—”
“If this were a case you were working, what would you do?”
She picked up the phone. Within a few minutes she confirmed that no one in her family had used the keys.
That left them with the question of how someone had broken in. Gillian was savvy enough to have installed superior-quality locks on her doors and all were intact. Which meant the intruder was smart.
“We should call CSU, see if he got careless, left a fingerprint.” Brad knew it had to be done even though it would mean the end to his participation in the case.
“I doubt there’s anything here.” Yet she opened the closet and pulled out a box. “I have a kit. I’ll dust the desk and door, but I’ll bet the only prints there are mine.”
She was wrong, though. Brad’s prints showed up as well.
He was surprised. “It seems that you ought to have more prints—your family, neighbors, even the maintenance personnel.”
“True. But my weekly cleaning lady came today. She always wipes everything down. I’m not saying there’s not an odd print here or there, but she has a thing about germs and she washes all the trim, light switches, doorknobs, phones, that sort of thing.”
“And the theft occurred on the one day your cleaning lady was here,” Brad mused. “So, if you reported the break-in, it would be understandable that your apartment has no fingerprints other than your own. Or mine.”
Gillian strolled to the windows, checking the locks for the third time. “It doesn’t make sense,” she muttered.
“Whoever did this is unaccustomed to making mistakes. I suspect the gate was left slightly ajar only because someone came by. If we hadn’t noticed the gate, you might not have realized immediately that your journal was gone.” An unwanted thought hit him. “It could have been returned later without your noticing.”
“In the middle of the night?” she questioned skeptically.
He nodded, his mouth set in a grim line.
“Oh, Brad. You’re getting ahead of yourself. We have no reason to think that.”
“No? Then tell me why a common criminal breaks in without a trace, takes one seemingly valueless item, then leaves through locked doors and windows, again not leaving as much as a fingerprint.”
Gillian’s expression grew more reflective. “You’re right. I’m going to have to call the bureau. If there’s any chance our perp could be the one who broke in I wouldn’t want to compromise any DNA evidence he could have left behind.”
Brad knew she referred to the microscopic hair and skin traces that could be linked to the suspect. He noticed that she’d said she would call the bureau rather than CSU.
He saw why when they arrived. No explanations were needed as to why she’d dusted the desk and door frame before they arrived. Instead her people efficiently collected all possible evidence. They also took a strand of Brad’s hair to eliminate him from their investigation.
When they left, Gillian turned to Brad with a wry smile. “So much for keeping the personal part of my life separate from the bureau.”
He hadn’t realized that was so important to her. “You did the right thing. If there’s any chance that it could lead us to the kidnapper—”
“I know.” Gillian pushed at her hair. Then she glanced around her living room.
“It stinks,” Brad said for her. “Knowing someone was in here.”
“Yeah.”
He acknowledged the single word, aware how much it cost her. At the same time it reinforced the decision he’d made the moment he’d seen her gate standing open. “But you’re not alone.”
She glanced at him in question.
“I’ll bunk on the couch. That way you can get some sleep.”
“You’re not the only cop here, Brad. And you need to sleep as well.”
He stared at her. “Do you think I’d be able to sleep, thinking about the possibility of someone climbing in your window?”
Her eyes seemed to darken against her nearly translucent skin. “You wouldn’t?”
His heart took the bump but kept on beating. “Of course not.”
Tension was sudden, almost visible.
She glanced away. “I haven’t had a baby-sitter since I was ten. Something you’re ignoring.”
He guessed it was she who wanted to ignore the awkward moment, along with reminders of the nights they had willingly spent together. “I know you won’t call your family—you’d be afraid of worrying them. That leaves me. Which is more important? Your pride or staying safe to work on the case?”
Something indefinable flickered in her expression, before she nodded reluctantly. “I suppose you’re right.”
Brad felt about as wanted as last week’s garbage. “Do you have an extra blanket?”
Stirred from her reflections, Gillian nodded. “Sure. I can even scrounge up a pillow. I’ll see if I can find one that’s not too soft.”
He met her gaze. That was an intimate detail to remember.
From the way she shifted uncomfortably, he guessed she’d had the same thought. He was certain when she turned away, concentrating suddenly on gathering linen.
Making up the couch didn’t take long. It was a near brainless chore. But the tug of shared history never left.
Brad watched Gillian’s hands as they smoothed the cool sheets, remembering how she’d once strewn flower petals over the creamy linen. Candles had filled the room, but he’d needed only the moonlight gleaming upon her skin to see by.
She started to straighten up, her gaze caught in his. She swallowed. The quiet in the apartment seemed immense, and Brad couldn’t summon one inconsequential bit of small talk.
Her voice when it finally emerged was unusually husky. “That’ll be the bed, then.”
Slowly he nodded.
She moistened her lips and didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. “I…uh, Brad. You really don’t have to do this.”
“We’ve been over that,” he replied, his voice subdued, his thoughts riotous.
“So we have.” She appeared to want to say more, or perhaps that was his own wishful thinking. She patted the pillow a final time. “Well, good night.”
He nodded. It was too difficult to voice the words, to acknowledge that he and his wife would forever be separated by walls.
After she left, the minutes plodded by. He could hear the soft sounds of Gillian as she readied for bed. The crackle of one fabric, then the whispering slip of another.
Unwilling to feel like an eavesdropper on his own memories, Brad prowled through the living room looking for a distraction. But after a few minutes he realized it was unlikely he’d find anything. Every object in the room was Gillian’s, and she was impossible to ignore.
Brad clicked on the television, went through the channels by rote, then turned it off again. He was too restless to even be lulled by a mindless sitcom, and the noise prevented him from hearing anything outside.
He switched off the lamp and stretched out on the couch. It was stupid, he knew, but he thought he could hear Gillian breathing. He could picture her in sleep, the way her face softened, revealing a vulnerability she normally kept well hidden.
Punching the pillow, he turned on his side, glancing around the dim room. As he watched, the thin line of light beneath Gillian’s bedroom door disappeared. So she wasn’t asleep yet.
Did she still hog the bedcovers? And wake up sprawled on the other side of the bed, her toes always wriggling free from the sheet?
Brad punched his pillow again, then stared into the darkness. Funny, it seemed a cop and an FBI agent would have had a better chance to stay together than the average couple.
Sighing, Brad rolled over, thinking of their time together.
It wasn’t
a bad way to spend the time, Brad acknowledged a few hours later. Because he wasn’t going to sleep. His proximity to Gillian alone would have prevented that. But concern for her safety wouldn’t allow it.
By then Brad had also memorized the contents of the living room, mentally developing a plan in case the intruder returned. Glancing at Gillian’s bedroom door, he wondered if she’d managed to fall asleep. He hadn’t heard anything for some time. He hoped weariness had overtaken her.
Deciding to warm up some coffee, he abandoned the couch. A small light remained burning above the kitchen window. Gillian said she usually left it on. They’d decided to make everything appear as usual. Brad glanced out the small window. Even as he did, he doubted the tight squeeze would be the first choice of an intruder. The rear of the property led down to a creek, making the unit vulnerable from three sides since it was on the end. The tall windows and French doors in both the living room and bedroom added to the vulnerability. What more could an intruder want?
Brad poured the coffee, put the mug into the microwave and programmed the machine. When it beeped, he retrieved his mug. Then he stood still for a moment, thinking he’d heard a faint sound. Silence.
But then there was another sound. Hot liquid splashed on his hand when he slammed the mug on the counter. Brad paid it no heed as he drew his gun. He crossed the living room in seconds, pulling open the bedroom door.
The room was empty. The French doors were open. Feeling his heart stop, Brad ran forward. Gillian stood at the gate, looking up and down the driveway.
He allowed a moment for the relief to register, then another movement caught his eye. It came from the top of the brick wall at the far end of the courtyard. Brad sped toward the wall and immediately heard the thud of someone dropping to the ground on the other side.
Cursing, he considered his options, not knowing if Gillian was armed. “Police! Freeze!” he shouted as he climbed the fence. But there was no one in sight when he reached the top of the wall. It was a perfect place to disappear. Tall trees and brush covered the land that sloped down to the creek.
He turned back and looked down. Gillian stood beneath him and he dropped down beside her. “You okay?”
“Yes.”
He glanced at the gun she held. “I wasn’t sure if you had that.”
“Wouldn’t be much point chasing him without it.”
“Of course.” When they were married it had always been hard to accept that she could defend herself. It didn’t seem much easier now. “Did you see him?”
She shook her head. “I woke up, and the door was open. I reached for my gun and he ran.”
“Why didn’t you call for me?”
“I thought by the time you woke up…” She glanced at his fully clothed state, taking in the fact that he wore his shoes. Her expression changed, softened. “Didn’t you sleep at all?”
“I don’t think that’s our biggest concern. He came back, Gillian. If he intended to replace the diary before it was noticed, he knows now that can’t happen.”
“Or if he was simply a burglar, he might have returned to finish the job.”
“And steal what? Your stationery? You don’t believe that any more than I do.”
“I’ve tried to keep an open mind, but he is targeting me, isn’t he?”
Brad couldn’t keep the grimness from his voice. “I’m afraid so. And now he knows we’re on to him.”
Gillian glanced around the deserted courtyard. “This was always such a quiet place, a safe haven.”
Brad met her eyes. “But it isn’t anymore, Gillian. You won’t be safe here again.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE FOLLOWING MORNING Gillian combed through the reports yet again. She’d read and reread the scarce facts. And they continued to add up the same. All they really knew was that young Katie Johnson had disappeared exactly as Tamara Holland had. Volunteers continued searching the neighborhoods, fields and bayous near the missing children’s homes. No ransom calls had been made and no one in the investigation believed there would be.
Lists of known pedophiles had been cross-checked against residents and employees of local businesses. Even offenders with records of simple assault had been investigated—still nothing. She and Brad, as well as the detectives, continued interviewing all neighbors and acquaintances.
It was as though Katie, like Tamara, had just vanished. Gillian thought of Brad’s sister, Amanda. The case was eerily similar in that aspect.
Shaking away the disturbing thoughts, Gillian wondered if there was an approach she hadn’t considered. She had done everything by the book, used all the tools the bureau had at its disposal, yet she felt as though they were missing something. She rubbed at the spot between her eyebrows, trying to ease the aching in her head.
A light knock sounded on the glass of her office door, and Teri stuck her head in.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” Gillian asked in pleased surprise.
“I got tired of talking to your answering machine. And since you’re probably surviving on coffee, I thought I might steal you away for a late lunch.”
Gillian knew she couldn’t spare that much time from the case. “We could order in.”
“I knew you were working yourself to death.”
Gillian hesitated.
“Then it must have to do with Brad. You want to talk about it?”
Gillian glanced at Teri, not surprised that her sister was so attuned. But she didn’t want to worry Teri, so she edited the actual events, leaving out the intruder and Brad’s presence on her couch. Brad had been right. It was the reason she hadn’t asked Teri or her brothers to come to her aid. Not being cops, they wouldn’t stop worrying once the case was concluded. “I hadn’t really anticipated how it would feel spending so much time with him.”
Teri murmured sympathetically. “Rough, huh?”
“Brings back a lot of memories.”
“And emotions?” Teri guessed.
“Ah, the emotions,” Gillian admitted ruefully. “They don’t just disappear because a marriage ends and a piece of paper says they should.”
Concern darkened Teri’s face. “Second thoughts?”
“No. There’s no future for Brad and me. That hasn’t changed.”
“What does he think?”
“We haven’t discussed it, Teri.”
“Why ever not?”
“Unlike you, not everyone is comfortable with shaking up things until something, or someone, falls out.”
Teri shrugged. “It’s more direct that way. If I’d have waited for David to propose I’d still be single.”
“Be glad he appreciates that in you,” Gillian said with a laugh. “Another man might have gone running.”
“But I knew David wouldn’t!”
“Lucky you.”
“Yes, yes I am.” Teri’s voice softened with the acknowledgment.
Gillian suppressed a pang of envy. She didn’t begrudge Teri her happiness. Still she wondered what it would be like to choose correctly the first time. Once she’d been nearly as sure.
She found herself wishing she could turn the clock back to those glorious first days with Brad. Could she have somehow changed the outcome? Changed his mind about having a family?
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, when Brad and Gillian were interviewing, he wondered why she was so quiet. She said there hadn’t been any bad news concerning the case. But he couldn’t help the feeling that something was wrong.
He glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly ten. I need to run by my parents’ house. Do you mind?”
She hesitated, thinking she needed to spend less time with him, not more. “That’s fine.”
He was beginning to worry about her. It wasn’t like Gillian to be so subdued.
They reached the Mitchell home, and his parents were as welcoming as they had been the previous evening.
“You’re sure I can’t make sandwiches for you?” Elizabeth asked. “If I’d known you were coming I would have—”
; “Gone to too much trouble, Mom. That’s why I didn’t call. I brought the router back so Dad can finish his project.”
Thomas smiled. “I hope you didn’t make a special trip. I haven’t been in the workshop today.”
Brad looked at him in surprise. “That’s not like you.”
“I know. But your mother talked me into going to counseling with her.”
“Counseling?” Brad couldn’t keep the shock from his voice. “Whatever possessed you to start counseling now? You’re not having trouble, are you?”
Elizabeth laughed softly. “Not the kind you mean. But we need this therapy. Gillian talked me into it. I didn’t think your father would agree, but he surprised me.”
Thomas picked up Elizabeth’s hand. “I know it’s going to be good for us.”
Brad couldn’t believe his parents had agreed to counseling.
“I think so, too,” Gillian added after an awkward moment of silence.
“Yes, of course,” Brad managed to say.
Elizabeth smiled. “Your father and I talked for hours after you left. First thing this morning I called the psychologist Gillian suggested and he scheduled us based on her recommendation. Luckily, he had a cancellation and fit us in today.”
“Did you like the psychologist?” Gillian questioned.
“Yes. He thinks we’ll benefit from attending often.”
“Counseling.” Brad couldn’t stop repeating the word.
Gillian’s elbow connected with his side.
“Sounds great,” Brad amended. “I hate to drop in and run, but we’ve had a pretty hectic day.”
“We understand,” Thomas replied.
“Of course,” Elizabeth added. “But next time let me know you’re coming and I’ll cook.”
Brad hugged his mother. “Sure, Mom.”
“You come again, too, Gillian,” Thomas told her as he opened the door.
Once they were outside, Brad could scarcely contain his surprise. “I can’t believe you talked them into therapy!”
“Do you disapprove?”
“Of course not. It’s just that we tried that when Amanda disappeared. It didn’t do any good.”
“As I said to your mother, it might be different this time. A lot of years have passed. Maybe it will help them.”
Vanished (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 8