In silent understanding, she met Brad’s gaze. It would be so easy to snatch one of them, to disappear into the twilight.
As she scanned the area, Brad suddenly draped an arm around her. The warmth of his touch penetrated her light cotton top, a delicious, well-remembered heat.
“Someone’s watching us watching,” he explained in a quiet tone.
“Oh.” Gillian wished the word didn’t sound so stilted, that she hadn’t tensed up when she’d felt his touch. Turning her attention back to the job, Gillian looked across the midway. “Man in the gray T-shirt?”
“Yeah.”
Suddenly the man stepped out, putting his hand on a young boy’s shoulder.
Brad and Gillian moved forward the next instant.
A young woman pushing a stroller waved to the man. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”
As they watched, the young family fell in step together, walking away.
Adrenaline mixed with relief, along with the realization they still hadn’t spotted the perp. Gillian glanced at her watch. “It’s time to meet with Turner and Fulton.”
Brad nodded. “Can you find your way back to my apartment?”
“Yes.” She glanced down the midway, watching couples, old and young, as they strolled through the attractions. “If we don’t learn anything from the video cameras, you know what we’ll have to do.”
“Tell the team and the bureau,” Brad replied.
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“Of course not. I don’t want to be on the case so badly that I’d ignore your safety.”
Gillian swallowed, realizing she was the one who was surprised.
Although it was dark, she could still see Brad’s eyes. His gaze moved over her face, but then that impassive look he wore so well filled his expression.
Gillian pushed the emotion from her voice. “Did I tell you I’m considering a bigger sweep of the carnival area—coordinating it with the bureau?”
“This morning,” he replied.
Gillian slowed her too eager words, realizing she was talking to cover her nervous reaction. She needed some distance. “After I meet with Turner and Fulton I’ll swing by the station.”
“Can’t it wait until morning?”
But she wasn’t in the mood to negotiate. “Goes with the job.”
Brad nodded.
She knew he couldn’t say more—that he couldn’t risk being seen by the detectives. So she fled.
AND GILLIAN DIDN’T STOP running until she reached the relative safety of the station. Her meeting with Turner and Fulton hadn’t taken long, for which she was grateful, wanting to be gone from the carnival and from Brad’s proximity.
Now, enclosed in her borrowed office, Gillian pondered the day, the case, the increasing time she was spending with Brad.
Vicki stuck her head in. “You hibernating?”
“You’re a fresh breath of air. Come in.”
“Any special reason you need fresh air?”
“You’re entirely too observant, Vicki.”
“Occupational hazard. The case getting to you? Or is it something more personal?”
Gillian would like nothing better than to pour out her feelings to a detached third party and secure an honest opinion. But that wasn’t possible. “Guess it’s just the world in general.”
“Well, if that’s all…” Vicki studied Gillian as she sank into the chair across from the desk. “Jeez, you do look like you’re carrying the weight of the world. You want to tell me about it?”
“Yes. But I can’t.”
“Isn’t this a fun new game?”
Unexpectedly, Gillian found her smile returning.
“That’s better,” Vicki declared. “I was wondering if I should call the paramedics.”
“It’s not quite that grim.”
Vicki’s partner, Shawn Spiers, tapped on the door of the office and stepped inside. He didn’t waste time with greetings. “There may be a pattern.”
Gillian listened to Shawn’s report, gripped by the feeling that they were finally on to something.
“Two and a half months ago, while the carnival was in Tyler,” Shawn continued to explain, “a ten-year-old girl disappeared.”
“Was she ever found?”
Shawn shook his head. “They weren’t sure at first if she was a runaway, but no clothes or favorite possessions were gone. Like Tamara Holland and Katie Johnson, she disappeared in the middle of the night.”
Gillian frowned. “And no witnesses?”
“Not one. It’s a quiet neighborhood.”
Like their victims.
Shawn nodded. “There are a lots of similarities. The Tyler police searched the area, canvassed the neighborhood, but they didn’t turn up anything.”
“Were the parents ever suspects?”
“No. The mother was home with the other children. The father was at work on the night shift with fifty other people, never out of their sight.” Shawn paused. “On a hunch, I checked to see if she was a Girl Scout.”
“And?”
“She was an active member. It’s a common link.”
Gillian considered this. “But the carnival isn’t. Interview Deerling again tomorrow.”
“Right,” Shawn agreed.
“Vicki, I need the carnival’s employee profiles.”
The detective stood. “Be right back with them.”
Shawn handed Gillian the Tyler girl’s report. “Do you want me to keep researching other towns the carnival performed in?”
“Yes. I hope there’s not a bloody trail across the state, but if there is, it’s time we found out.”
Shawn met her gaze. “How are we going to cover this?”
“I’ll go to Tyler tomorrow. You and Vicki talk to the Johnsons again tomorrow, as well. Primary carnival surveillance will go to Fulton and Turner, with backup to split their shift. Agent Savino will coordinate the task force in Houston.”
Now all Gillian had to do was tell Brad. And decide whether he would take this next step with her. Or whether it was time to go it alone.
BRAD WATCHED OUT HIS living room window, the bright city lights a constantly changing panorama, one he didn’t really see. His mind was on the phone conversation he’d just had with his mother. He couldn’t remember when she’d sounded so upbeat. He was surprised by her new attitude, but even more surprised by her request. She wanted him to consider counsel-ling, as well. Reluctantly he wondered if she could be right.
He heard a tentative knock on the door, one that was nearly as soft as the music he’d selected. Before he opened the door, Brad knew it was Gillian. It wasn’t like her to be tentative. But something had changed in her that afternoon. He didn’t know why, but the shift had been visible. At least to him.
And her face still reflected that change.
“Come on in.”
“I have news,” she announced, barely inside.
“Good news?”
“We may have a connection.”
Brad put aside thoughts of his personal life. He was amazed that the change wasn’t more welcome. Normally, work was his prime consideration, especially this kind of case. Taking Gillian’s briefcase from her, Brad placed it on the end table, listening as she filled him in.
When she finished, she looked at him expectantly. “I think it’s the break we’ve been hoping for.”
“Sounds like it.”
Her expression grew puzzled. “You don’t sound very pleased.”
Brad forced his thoughts to settle. “It’s a mixed bag. I’m glad we have a connection, but I can’t be pleased we have another victim. Are you going to Tyler?”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
He gestured to the bar stools. “You look beat. Wine?”
“Just a small glass.”
He poured the wine, then passed her a glass.
She sipped the satisfying merlot. “I didn’t realize how tired I was.”
He pulled take-out Chinese food from the oven. Handing h
er a carton and chopsticks, he took the stool next to her.
She inhaled the spicy scent. “It smells delicious.”
They ate the warm food, the toll of nonstop work and lousy eating habits having caught up with them.
When Gillian reached the bottom of the carton, she fiddled with the chopsticks. “You don’t have to feed me, you know.”
“I know.”
She pushed at the last bite of chicken. “And you don’t have to protect me.”
“So you keep telling me.”
She laid her chopsticks down. “Okay, what’s with you?”
“Can’t you just accept that I’m being agreeable?”
“Why?”
He sighed. There was so much between them. And no time to resolve any of it.
“I’m sorry,” she added quickly. “That wasn’t very gracious. I appreciate your concern, but I’ve become accustomed to watching out for myself.”
“Point taken. Fortune cookie?”
Distracted, she accepted the cookie.
Cracking open his own, he expected the usual cryptic message. Still, the words surprised him. “Love will be yours with the light.”
Meeting Gillian’s eyes, he tucked the message into his pocket. And, taking a huge leap, allowed himself to hope.
CHAPTER TEN
GILLIAN WASN’T SURE HOW Brad had managed it, but he was beside her as they drove into the East Texas town of Tyler. Deciding to pass off her acquiescence as temporary fatigue, she resolved to get back in control.
However, it was difficult to maintain her annoyance as they rode through the deep green landscape. The farther they traveled from Houston, the more she felt her tension retreat.
Entering Tyler, the rose capital of Texas and—in its citizens’ opinion—that of the country, Gillian sighed. The sweetness of blooming roses was so at odds with their mission.
They easily found the police station. The locals were eager to share their information, to enlist any help in finding the young victim. But the Tyler police weren’t optimistic about still finding the girl alive. She had been gone for nearly three months.
After studying the files, Gillian and Brad drove to the girl’s neighborhood, which was calm, quiet and pretty.
Brad parked across from the victim’s house. “Looks like an ideal place to raise children.”
“I wonder how many of the parents are scared to death now,” Gillian questioned aloud.
“All of them would be my guess.”
“I don’t understand why your captain barred you from the case.” Gillian blurted out words she’d been thinking but hadn’t meant to say.
“What?”
“You seem to have such a good handle on all the aspects of a disappearance. And you’d work all day, every day given the chance. You also seem completely in control of yourself. I know you said you blew a kidnapping case. But what exactly happened?”
He turned away, hesitating. “I hadn’t been at the precinct long. A particularly nasty case came up—abduction of young boys who were raped and beaten, some found more dead than alive. The last one died on the way to the hospital. We collared the perp and I lost it.”
Gillian could picture his anger. And while she didn’t blame him, she could also understand his captain’s point of view. “And Maroney hasn’t given you a second chance?”
“Internal Affairs wrote me up for my treatment of the bastard—violation of his civil rights. Top brass wasn’t happy.”
“Which puts your captain on the line if he lets you handle another one and you go ballistic.”
“Yep.”
Gillian knew she’d taken a chance in allowing him to work on the case unofficially. But the sinking pit in her stomach told her it could mean the end of both their careers if anything went wrong. She reached for the door handle. “You ready?”
“As much as I ever will be.”
Gillian knew Brad dreaded interviewing the victim’s parents. They would be touching an unhealed wound, refreshing their pain.
The discussion didn’t last long. The parents, clearly agonized, were desperately eager to share what little information they had. But, like Tamara’s and Katie’s parents, they didn’t know anything other than the fact their child had disappeared. Time hadn’t brought any more memories to the surface that could provide a lead.
Gillian and Brad glanced at each other before climbing in the car. Their exchange was silent, their agreement complete. Talking to victims’ families was the worst part of the job.
They drove around the neighborhood. It was comparable in many aspects to both Tamara Holland’s and Katie Johnson’s. But there was no trail to follow.
While still in Houston, Gillian had called to have other agents interview neighbors and run background checks. Until they learned more, she couldn’t be certain the crimes had a correlation.
Her cell phone rang. Gillian listened, jotted down a few notes and turned to Brad with an unhappy expression. “There was another disappearance farther east in Callville, another town the carnival performed in.”
Brad glanced at his watch. “That’s not too far. We probably have just enough time to make it there before dark.”
Gillian considered the wisdom of traveling on with Brad. However, she had prepared herself that it could be an overnight mission. Deciding business was more important than her personal concerns, she phoned the agent who would be coordinating the interviews in Tyler. Assured that he could handle everything that entailed, she decided to go with her gut feeling and drive on.
But their calculations were off. It was well past dark when they arrived in Callville. They had encountered an unexpected detour. Construction took them on a bumpy two-lane farm road most of the way.
“Are you hungry?” Brad asked when they finally reached town.
“I’m guessing that’s your way of saying we should wait to contact the locals.”
“Put yourself in their place. The FBI and HPD roll in unannounced when the chief’s no doubt gone home for dinner. We can phone them, get something to eat and then look at the files.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Gillian conceded. “And I’m starving.”
Driving down the sparse main street, they figured the local diner would be the best choice.
Brad parked the car, glad to stretch his legs after the hours of driving. Gillian phoned the local sheriff’s office from the parking lot, not wanting to attract attention from the patrons. Then she checked in with the task force in Houston.
Once inside, Brad was relieved to see the place looked clean and hospitable. It took him only moments to decide he wanted the chicken-fried steak. He enjoyed watching Gillian as she perused the menu. He’d always liked the fact that she was no snob. Some women would have considered the rural diner and its plain menu beneath them. Not Gillian.
“Um,” she said aloud. “I shouldn’t, but I’m having the chicken-fried steak with extra gravy.”
Brad glanced at a display of homemade desserts. “Me, too. And pie.”
The food was hot and delicious. Hungry and tired, they ate with little conversation.
Gillian finished her mashed potatoes and smiled in a teasing way he remembered well. “Our mothers would be pleased we’re having vegetables.”
Brad knew his mother would be pleased that he was spending so much time with Gillian. She had always believed they would find their way back together. While that might be a far-fetched idea, this time had been a gift.
“Have you talked to my mother lately?”
Gillian shook her head. “Is something up?”
“You could say that. She’s even more certain the counseling is helping her.”
Gillian’s smile was gentle. “I couldn’t be happier.”
“She thinks I should go to counseling, too.”
Fiddling with the salt shaker, Gillian hesitated. “What do you think about that?”
“It never did any good before.”
Wiping her hands carefully on the paper napkin, Gillian did
n’t meet his gaze. “And now?”
Brad considered the possibilities that had been plaguing him. “I don’t know.”
She drew patterns in the condensation that coated her glass. “What if it could help?”
He pushed back in the booth. “Sounds like you think I need it.”
“Brad, I want you to be happy.”
“Do you, Gillian?”
“Of course I do. We’re divorced, not enemies.”
“Then you should know I did take a risk.”
Her lips trembled suddenly. “This isn’t the time. With the case—”
He relented, realizing she was right. “It’s a strange path we’ve taken, isn’t it, Gilly?”
Her throat worked, and he watched the fragile trembling with an ache that had never completely left him since they’d split up.
But she didn’t speak. And when she looked at him with her huge eyes, he wanted somehow to make it better, to tell her what she’d wanted to hear, what he’d never been able to commit to.
Instead he forced his expression to clear. “You still want to meet with the sheriff’s office tonight?”
She cleared her throat. “Yes. I’d like to study the files.”
Although he would work on the case twenty-four hours a day—as Gillian had said in the car—Brad wondered if their perspective was becoming affected by the long hours.
However, once at the sheriff’s office, the search took an unexpected turn. The deputy had pulled the files on the disappearance of Holly Brewster. The girl turned out to be seventeen years old. The case could be connected, but at that age the victim could well be a runaway. Details on interviews with family and friends were sketchy, confirming that the sheriff’s office shared that opinion. With the deputy’s permission, they took copies of the meager files.
Once outside, Brad glanced at Gillian. “There’s not much to go on.”
“Agreed. The connection seems pretty tenuous. Why don’t we give ourselves a break? Get some sleep.”
There was only one motel in the small town. Located on the main drag, its fifties-style neon sign declared it had soft beds and hot coffee.
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