The Innocent

by Amanda Stevens

  As Abby walked out to the parking lot late that afternoon, Sam caught up with her. He hadn’t been present at the briefing because he was doing exactly what she’d asked—keeping a low profile. But she’d made no secret of the fact that the information concerning Greta Henley had been derived through the Memphis field office via Sam. On that point, Special Agent Carter had expressed concern.

  “I don’t see what the problem is,” Abby said. “You have the same connections that Sam Burke has. More so, because you’re still with the Bureau. You could have picked up the phone and been in contact with both the FBI and the local police in Memphis, but you didn’t. I think we should be grateful to Sam Burke that he had the foresight to do so.”

  Special Agent Carter had responded by turning on his heel and exiting the room without further comment.

  So be it, Abby thought. This was her case. This was her town. No one could care more about the safety of those children than she. If Talbot Carter’s ego had been bruised, then that was just too damn bad.

  “Anything wrong?” Sam asked, gazing down at her.

  She shrugged. “You FBI types get on my nerves sometimes, that’s all.”

  “Carter giving you a hard time?”

  “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’re getting close, Sam. I can feel it.”

  He nodded, but his eyes were troubled. “Vickie Wilder is looking like a solid suspect. I’ll give you that. But we haven’t found one piece of physical evidence linking her to the crimes. What we have is all circumstantial.”

  “If you’re trying to cheer me up, please stop,” Abby grumbled.

  His gaze on her deepened. “I just want you to realize this is far from over. This case could still take an unexpected turn.”

  His words seemed ominous to Abby. Almost portentous. “Do you know something I don’t?”

  He shook his head. “No. But I’ve had a lot of experience. And when things start to look bright in a case like this, it’s usually right before they get darkest.”

  Chapter Eleven

  It was almost nine by the time Abby finally got home. She called in a pizza order before stripping and heading for the shower.

  Her bedroom and bathroom were the only rooms in the house she’d changed from her grandmother’s time. The Jacuzzi tub and separate shower were extravagances Abby could ill afford on her salary, but she’d justified the drain on her savings by reminding herself that she indulged in very few vices. Other than an occasional glass of wine, she didn’t drink. She didn’t smoke, take drugs or go clubbing. Her social life was actually pretty pathetic, but she was a lot better off than the other women in her family.

  Single mothers, all of them, they’d had to give up their dreams at an early age to be both mother and father to their children. But growing up, Abby had never felt slighted by the arrangement because she’d always known how much her mother loved her.

  When her mother wasn’t around, there was her grandmother to take up the slack. Grandmother Eulalia, who’d toiled in the cotton fields for years, and then later had put in long, exhausting hours bent over her sewing machine, trying to provide for her family. But Abby had never heard her complain. Not once. Her grandmother had accepted her lot in life, including her mistakes, and she’d concentrated on making the most of it.

  So had Abby’s mother, for that matter. And her sister. Not one of them had ever allowed herself the luxury of wallowing in self-pity. Had ever wasted precious time worrying about what might have been. Even after Sadie’s disappearance, Naomi hadn’t let the grief destroy her. She’d founded an organization to help other parents of missing children. She’d used her tragedy to benefit others.

  And what had Abby done?1

  She’d played by all the rules. She’d never let herself succumb to her impulses. She’d struggled mightily to keep her life on track, to avoid all the pitfalls, so why, all of a sudden, was she the one who was feeling so discontent tonight? Why was she the one who was lonely?

  I’m probably just tired, she thought as she got out of the shower and dried off. Exhausted, heartsick, worried. A case like this was not just physically tiring, but emotionally draining as well. No wonder her thoughts were a bit maudlin tonight. She was entitled, wasn’t she?

  In the bedroom, she slipped on a cotton sundress in favor of the jeans she’d been wearing lately, because the fabric was much lighter and cooler. More practical in the heat.

  The glass vial Mama Evie had given her yesterday lay on her dresser, and, removing the stopper, Abby waved the contents under her nose. She recognized some of the notes in the perfume: honeysuckle, roses, patchouli. But the undertones were harder to define. They were a little darker, a little more mysterious. A little forbidden, even.

  She put a drop on her fingertip and dabbed it behind her ears, keeping in mind Mama Evie’s warning to use it sparingly. Good advice, Abby thought, wrinkling her nose. The scent was a little overpowering as it mingled with the air. She tried to wipe it off with a towel, but the fragrance lingered.

  Stepping outside, she let the night air whisk away the remnants of the scent. The back garden, her grandmother’s passion, always soothed Abby’s overwrought nerves, even though she wasn’t the least bit keen on yard work herself. She’d done little beyond weeding and mowing, and Grandmother Eulalia’s carefully cultivated flower beds had grown into a riotous jungle of color. Abby liked it that way. It brought out an untamed aspect of her personality she tried very hard to keep hidden. Better to let her impulses roam free in the backyard than in the bedroom, she’d always thought.

  Settling herself in the swing, she pushed off with one foot, letting the gentle motion lull her for a moment. She watched the gray cat she’d brought home from Fairhaven stalk an invisible prey for a moment, then she laid her head back and closed her eyes. Nice, she thought drowsily. Very nice.

  A moment later, she was startled awake by the squeaking of the wrought-iron gate. Her gaze flew across the yard to where Sam stood just inside the fence. Her heart started to pound in slow, measured beats.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked almost breathlessly. “And how in the world did you know where to find me?”

  “I asked around.” His gaze moved over the yard. Daylight was gone, but the moon was up, illuminating the explosion of color in the flower beds, the honeysuckle that crept up the fence row, the trumpet vine that threatened to smother the oak tree that held the swing.

  He walked toward Abby in the falling darkness. “I guess there really is a garden of Eden.”

  AND THERE was Eve, looking more tempting than ever.

  She wore a soft, floral dress that bared her shoulders and legs, and in the fading light, her skin gleamed like moonbeams.

  Something powerful stirred inside Sam. Something he needed to deny but couldn’t. He wanted Abby. He couldn’t remember wanting a woman so badly.

  He walked over to the swing, and she shifted so that he could sit beside her. “I knocked on the front door, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”

  “I dozed off,” she admitted sheepishly. “What made you think to look around here?”

  “Just a hunch.”

  She pushed off again, rocking them slightly. The back-and-forth movement was a little distracting, given Sam’s mood.

  “What are you doing here, Sam?”

  “I came to ask you to dinner.”

  Her brows rose. “Dinner? This late?”

  “You’ve already eaten?”

  “No,” she admitted. “But I ordered a pizza. Do…you want to share it?”

  “Sounds great.” The invitation had been so reluctant Sam wasn’t certain he should have accepted. But then again, the way she looked tonight, he didn’t think he wanted to leave. He was suddenly very aware of the way she was dressed, of the way her hair curled slightly at her bare shoulders. Of the way she was looking at him.

  Their gazes met in the moonlight. The movement of the swing ceased, and in the silence, Sam thought he heard her catch her breath. His heart t
hudded against his chest, and he had to remind himself that he was too old to be doing this.

  But he heard himself saying, unwisely, “You’re a very beautiful woman, Abby.”

  Her gaze widened, as if he’d taken her completely by surprise. “I’m not. I mean, it’s nice of you to say that and all, but I’m not. You should see my sister. If you think I’m pretty, you should see her. She’s gorgeous, absolutely breathtaking—”

  “Abby?”

  She stopped and took a breath. “Yes?”

  “You’re babbling.”

  “No, I’m not.” She settled her skirt around her. “I only babble when I’m nervous, and I’m not nervous.”

  “I am.”

  That stopped her again. “You…are? Why?”

  “Because we’re playing with fire.”

  “Then why did you come here tonight?”

  “You know why,” he said softly.

  She turned to stare at him in the moonlight. “We went all through this before, Sam. I’m not going to sleep with you. I mean that.”

  “I know you do.”

  “Then that’s the end of it. There’s no need to talk about it any more.”

  “Okay.” Was it really that easy for her? Could she simply block out her feelings? Ignore the attraction that had been building between them since the moment they’d first met?

  If so she was a stronger person than he, Sam thought grimly.

  He turned back to the garden. “This place is incredible. You must have a green thumb.”

  She gave a wry laugh. The sound seemed to drift on the darkness. “Hardly. This is what’s left of my grandmother’s garden. Since I moved in here, I’ve pretty much just let nature take its course.”

  “Sometimes that’s the way it should be,” he murmured. “I’ve heard you talk about your sister and your mother and your grandmother, but what about the men in your family?”

  “There aren’t any.”

  “None?” He gave her an incredulous look. “There had to have been at one time.”

  “Not for long. Just long enough to propagate the species and ruin a few lives. The women in my family have very bad judgment when it comes to men.”

  “Is that why you’re not married?”

  She pushed off, rocking the swing slightly. “I just didn’t want to repeat their mistakes. My grandmother and my mother and my sister were all tied down with kids by the time they were twenty. All three of them struggled to be both mother and father, both caregiver and provider. It’s not an ideal way to raise a family.”

  “I wonder if there is an ideal way,” Sam mused.

  Abby glanced at him. “What about you?”

  “I was married.” He wasn’t certain he wanted to talk about his marriage. He didn’t think he wanted to bring Norah into this conversation. Into this garden. Into his relationship with Abby. If there was a relationship.

  “For how long?” she asked curiously.

  “Fifteen years.”

  That seemed to take her aback. “Wow. That’s a long time.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not forever.” Sam couldn’t keep a note of regret out of his voice. He hadn’t loved Norah in a very long time, but he’d once loved her. He’d once made her a promise that he hadn’t been able to keep. It was not something he liked to think about.

  “No kids?” Abby asked softly.

  Sam closed his eyes as he thought about Jonathan. As he watched him play for a moment in this very garden. Then the image faded. “We had a son. He died.” He didn’t look at Abby, but he could feel her gaze on him. Feel the warmth of her sympathy wrapping around him like a comforting embrace. He’d never talked about his son’s death with anyone. He didn’t understand why he wanted to tell Abby about him now. Why her pity wasn’t something he felt he had to turn away from.

  “What happened…unless you don’t want to talk about it?”

  “It’s not easy to talk about.” He gazed at the garden. “Jonathan had leukemia. He was only nine years old when he died. My wife and I divorced two years later.”

  She touched his hand. “I’m sorry.”

  He glanced at her, their gazes meeting in the darkness. “It was a long time ago.”

  It didn’t matter. The pain was still just as fresh as the day his son had died, Abby thought. The grief would never go away. She still missed her mother and her grandmother terribly, but she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose a child.

  She thought again of the two recent kidnappings and of Sadie, and Abby’s eyes burned with unshed tears. She wanted to find Sara Beth and Emily. More than anything, she wanted to return them safe and sound to their loved ones, but Sam’s son would never be coming back.

  No matter how hard she tried, no matter how fierce her dedication, Abby could never give him that.

  WHEN THE PIZZA finally arrived, Abby cleared off a space on the coffee table, and, after bringing in plates, napkins, glasses, and a bottle of wine from the kitchen, she sat down on the floor and tucked her legs beneath her.

  “Hope you don’t mind. Since you’re here, we may as well get some work done, and this is where I do my best thinking.”

  “Uh, no. It’s fine.”

  He wasn’t exactly the type to recline on the floor, Abby thought in amusement. When he started to sit down beside her, she said, “Don’t you ever relax? At least take off your jacket.”

  Shrugging out of his suit jacket, he tossed it onto the back of the sofa, then loosened his tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Giving Abby a wry look, he slipped off his shoes. “See? I’m relaxed.” He slid down on the floor beside her and took the glass of wine she offered him.

  “I’ve got beer if you’d prefer it.”

  “No, this is good. Thanks.”

  They helped themselves to pizza, and Abby picked up one of the folders she’d brought home from work. “I’ve got some background information here you might like to take a look at. I’d be interested in hearing some of your impressions of the people we interviewed today.” She opened the folder and scanned the top sheet. “Let’s start with Lois Sheridan.”

  “A perfectionist. Rigid. Inflexible. An obsessive compulsive personality disorder. Not to be confused with an obsessive compulsive disorder. Probably has an active fantasy life.”

  Abby looked up in surprise. “Really?” Lois Sheridan hadn’t struck her as the type of woman prone to fantasies. At least not the good kind.

  “She likes control,” Sam said. “She’s manipulated her environment so that she has complete autonomy. She probably had a very disorganized childhood. Raised in foster homes, maybe, or an orphanage.”

  Abby’s mouth opened slightly. “According to her background check, you nailed her dead on.”

  He gave her a wry look. “You sound surprised.”

  “No, it’s just…impressive, that’s all.” She picked up another folder and opened it. “Willa Banks.”

  “The nurse? Interesting personality.”

  “How so?”

  “She enjoyed the interview. Answering our questions gave her a sense of importance, maybe even power. She wanted us to think she was nervous, but she wasn’t. And contrary to what she said, she wasn’t the least bit hesitant about breaking Vickie Wilder’s confidence. I suspect she has an avid interest in police work. Maybe someone close to her was in law enforcement at one time. Maybe she even fantasized about being a cop. She lives alone, no family to speak of.”

  “Okay, now you’re showing off.” Abby nibbled on a piece of crust. She opened the next folder and stared down at a picture of Vickie Wilder, trying to recall her initial impression of the young woman. Nondescript in both her demeanor and appearance. Could she really have kidnapped Sara Beth and Emily?

  Abby handed the folder to Sam and watched as he studied Vickie’s picture. Something flickered across his features.

  “What?” Abby asked him.

  He shrugged, but his gaze never left the picture.

  “You suspected Vickie when we interviewed her, didn’
t you? Why didn’t you say so?”

  “I did. I told you I thought she was holding something back.”

  “But there was something else, too, wasn’t there?”

  He hesitated. “I’m not sure. She seemed almost familiar, but I know I’ve never met her.”

  Abby glanced at him in surprise. “I felt that, too. Not about her, necessarily, but about a photograph I saw in her apartment. It seemed familiar to me, but I couldn’t figure out why.”

  He closed the folder and laid it aside. “Maybe she just has one of those faces that makes you think you’ve seen her before.” But Abby didn’t think he sounded convinced.

  “In a way, I hope Vickie is the one,” Abby said. “Because I don’t believe she’d harm those children. If she took them as a substitute for the baby she had to give up, then they’re still alive.”

  “Assuming the same suspect took both children,” Sam said. “But you’ve never believed that, and neither do I. I think we still have to treat the cases separately. Otherwise, we could overlook something extremely important.”

  With a shock, Abby realized he was right. Ever since she’d learned about Vickie’s background, she’d merged the two cases. She’d been going under the assumption that if Vickie had taken one child as a replacement for her baby, she’d taken both of them. But that wasn’t necessarily the case. In fact, it didn’t seem very likely.

  She reached for the next folder and opened it. “Curtis Brodie.”

  “No reason to suspect him in Emily’s abduction, but I wouldn’t rule him out in Sara Beth’s.” Sam took a long sip of his wine. “Parents are always prime suspects, and in Curtis’s case, I think he’s a sociopath. He has a need to control and manipulate those around him for his own personal gain or satisfaction. He knows right from wrong, but he doesn’t care. He feels no guilt or compassion. He’s arrogant, self important, but he’s also got enough charm to con his victims. At least for a while.”

  Abby had seen that charm at work earlier today. And the manipulation. “You think he could be violent?”

  “Given the right circumstances, yes.”