0373447477 (R)

by Shirlee McCoy

  “What?” she asked, and Jubilee pressed her palms to Quinn’s face, looked straight into her eyes.

  “I need you to find Mommy.”

  “I will,” she said, shocked at how mature Jubilee sounded, how articulate she was. She’d assumed there was a learning disability or some emotional reason the little girl didn’t speak. Apparently, she simply hadn’t wanted to.

  “Promise?”

  “Of course.” The words slipped out before she could think them through, the promise made so quickly, she almost didn’t realize she’d made it. “I’m going back to the place we last saw her. When I find her, I’ll make sure she knows how much you want to see her.”

  “It will be up to Jubilee’s birth father to decide if seeing each other is a good idea,” Anna cautioned, and tears began running down Jubilee’s face again.

  Quinn wiped them away, her hands shaking with fatigue, worry, frustration. “Honey, don’t cry. Your dad is going to want what’s best for you, and seeing your mother—”

  “Not legally her mother,” Anna reiterated.

  “I don’t think that matters to her.”

  Anna ignored the comment, crouching down and touching the little girl’s arm. “We’ve talked about this.”

  Jubilee jerked away, pressing closer to Quinn.

  Anna sighed. “You know that we’re looking for your real father. I explained this. He has been waiting a very long time to see you again, and he—”

  Jubilee walked back into the closet and shut the door.

  “She’s very upset,” Anna explained as if it weren’t obvious. “This is too much for a five-year-old to handle.”

  “It would be too much for most people to handle.” Quinn answered by rote, her mind on the promise she’d made.

  The one she couldn’t break.

  Wouldn’t break.

  She’d said she’d find Tabitha. It’s what she wanted anyway. Now she not only had to find her sister, she had to make sure that Jubilee’s birth father was willing to let the two be reunited.

  One bridge at a time.

  That’s all she had to cross.

  First, she’d find Tabitha and make certain she was safe. Then, she’d figure out how to reunite the two.

  “I’d better go,” she said. “Maine is a long drive. I’ll leave you with my contact information—”

  “We have it,” Anna said with a forced smile.

  “Do you have a card, so I can reach you?”

  The woman dug into her purse, took out a card and handed it to her. “That’s my direct number. I know my methods may seem abrupt, but I’ve worked with traumatized kids for years. Most of the time, it’s best to get them back into structure and security quickly.”

  “I understand. Thanks for letting me see her. I’ll be in touch.”

  She walked out of the room, her heart beating hollowly in her chest.

  What had Tabitha gotten herself into?

  And how in the world was Quinn going to get her out of it?

  Nothing is impossible with God.

  How many times had her mother said that?

  During the difficult times, the struggles, the financial crises, her faith had never wavered. Until the end, she’d never stopped believing that God was going to come through.

  Quinn didn’t think she had her mother’s faith.

  Hers was tired, fragile, weak. It felt used up and old and tethered to her by years of spouting prayers and Christian platitudes. Did she really believe that nothing was impossible when God was in it?

  She wanted to.

  She really did, because she was going to Maine. Now. With or without her brother’s approval.

  * * *

  Quinn was going to leave, and she wasn’t going to wait a few hours to do it. Malone had seen the look on her face, the fear in her eyes, and then the frustration when Agent Spellings hadn’t seemed to take the phone call and threat seriously. She was taking it seriously. The FBI didn’t mess around. They’d play it safe, make sure that they were on the right track, and then they’d act.

  Malone could have told Quinn that, but she wouldn’t have believed him. It was her sister who was missing. If he were standing in Quinn’s shoes, he’d leave, too.

  The question was, would she leave through the front door or try to sneak out without her brother noticing?

  He glanced at August. The guy was deep in a discussion with law enforcement. Apparently, Tabitha had rented a car in Maine and returned it four hours after she’d left Jubilee with Quinn. Law enforcement was trying to figure out where she’d gone during those four hours, who’d she’d seen, who she might have contacted. Where she’d gone after.

  Did she get a ride with someone?

  Take the bus?

  Stay near Echo Lake?

  All good questions, and they needed answers, but there was no way Quinn was going to wait around while they figured it out. There was no way Malone was letting her drive up to Maine by herself. He’d come because of Jubilee, but he never quit until a mission was complete. In his mind, this wouldn’t be complete until he knew everyone involved was safe.

  He didn’t like the feel of things.

  He didn’t like the phone call, the scream, the fact that Tabitha’s phone might be in someone else’s hands. He especially didn’t like the idea that Quinn might be walking into a trap, that she might be used as a pawn to get to Jubilee or Tabitha.

  Whichever one the perpetrator was really going after.

  That was the question Malone was most interested in answering. Who was the real target?

  He texted Chance the information he had—birth certificate, kid with red hair and blue eyes. Tabitha’s husband’s name. His city of residence. Chance was always quick with solutions. He’d start digging into Jarrod Williams’s life, find out if there was any reason to doubt the story he’d told the police.

  People lied. All the time.

  It would be interesting to see if Jarrod had.

  Malone shoved the phone into his pocket and walked out of the room. No one seemed to notice. Just like no one would probably notice if Quinn slipped out under the radar.

  In her position, it’s probably what he’d do.

  He walked down a wide hall, glanced into an open doorway—a white bathroom with tiled floor and walls. There were three other rooms, all of them with their doors closed.

  He knocked on the first one, and a wide-eyed brunette opened it just enough for him to get a glimpse of the tiny room beyond.

  “I’m sorry. No one can see Jubilee,” she said sharply.

  “I’m looking for Quinn.”

  “She left a couple of minutes ago.”

  “Left?”

  “The room,” she said with a tired sigh. “I don’t know where she went after that.”

  She closed the door before he could respond.

  He thought about knocking again, trying to get a glimpse of Jubilee, but Quinn had gone somewhere. Not into the kitchen. She’d have had to walk through the living room to do that.

  He knocked on the second door, waited a moment and opened it. Dark furniture—bed, desk, curtains. It looked like August’s room. He went to the third. Knocked.

  “Quinn?” he called.

  She didn’t respond, so he tried the knob. It turned easily, a draft of cold air sweeping out as he opened the door.

  Curtains billowed at a wide window, the air tinged with the hint of fall. He could smell pine needles, wood burning stove, something flowery and light that might have been the remnants of perfume.

  He scanned the room. An open door led into a tiny closet. No place Quinn could have gone except out through the window.

  He climbed out, stepping into thick hedges that had already been smashed, their branches broken.

  “Quinn,” he called, his voice sharp.

  She’d be heading around the house by now, looking for the Jeep. The one that her brother still had the keys to. Malone had seen a #1 Teacher key chain dangling out of August’s back pocket while he was t
alking to the police.

  He jogged to the front of the house. The Jeep was at the end of the driveway, someone standing beside the driver’s door.

  “Your brother has the key,” he called as he walked toward it.

  “I wish I’d known that before I’d decided to climb out the window,” Quinn muttered, her face pale in the darkness.

  “You wouldn’t have had to climb out a window if you’d walked out the front door, and if you’d done that, your brother would have told you he had the key.”

  “He’d also have insisted on coming with me.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “I don’t want to wait around for him to finish whatever it is he has to do.”

  “You’d rather put yourself in danger?”

  “Tabitha is in danger. That is paramount to everything right now.”

  “You can’t save your sister by getting yourself kidnapped or killed, Quinn. You’re running on emotion. You need to slow down and start thinking.”

  “I am thinking, and what I’m thinking is that sitting here twiddling my thumbs isn’t doing Tabitha any good. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to her because I waited until the sun came up.”

  “You won’t be able to live with yourself if you’re dead, either.”

  She smiled at that, a quick curve of her lips that was there and gone so quickly he almost didn’t see it. “You’ve got a point, but I still want to leave.”

  “Then, let’s go, but let’s do it the right way.”

  “Which is?”

  “We tell your brother. We tell my boss, and then I ride up to Maine with you.”

  “I think you have better things to do with your time.” But, she hiked her purse onto her shoulder and started walking back to the house.

  “Like?”

  “Work? Family? Life?”

  “I’m on vacation, and my family consists of a bunch of siblings and cousins who are all perfectly capable of taking care of themselves.”

  “This is what you do on vacation?”

  “This is what I do for my job. I got asked to help because I was vacationing in a cabin close by.”

  “You could go back to the cabin, then, and finish what you started.”

  “I’m going to finish what I started here first.”

  “You came because of Jubilee,” she reminded him, stepping onto the porch, light spilling onto her hair and face.

  “And, I’m staying because of you. Until I know everyone involved is safe, this assignment isn’t complete.”

  “Everyone you’ve had any contact with is safe.”

  “For now,” he muttered, scanning the darkness beyond the yard, because something was crawling along his spine—a whisper of danger, a warning that trouble might be closing in again.

  “I don’t—”

  “Let’s discuss it inside.”

  “Why—?”

  There was a flash of light in the trees to their right. Malone was moving before it registered, tackling Quinn, bringing her down hard. Too hard.

  Something slammed into the porch railing, splintering wood and sending shrapnel flying. Another flash, and a window shattered, someone inside shouting a warning.

  The porch light went off, and they were plunged into darkness. August. Or one of the law enforcement officers, providing cover. Malone was going to take advantage of it. He rolled toward the edge of the porch, dragging Quinn with him, the sound of a car engine breaking through the deadly quiet.

  Chance finally arriving?

  He hoped so.

  They needed backup, and they needed it soon.

  The front door flew open, and August stepped out, his arm raised, a gun pointed toward the darkness.

  “To the right,” Malone shouted, and August fired one round after another into the darkness.

  FIVE

  Seconds. That’s how long it took from the first shot to the last. It felt like an eternity to Quinn. The ground seemed to shake as law enforcement officers stormed out of the house and headed into the woods.

  Was August okay?

  Jubilee?

  She tried to raise her head, but Malone’s heavy weight held her in place, his entire body pressing her into the ground.

  “Stay still,” he growled.

  “August—”

  “Is fine.”

  “What about Jubilee?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I need to find out.”

  “You need to stay down.”

  She would have argued, but she could barely catch enough breath to do it. His weight or panic, she didn’t know which, but she was gasping for air, black spots dancing at the edge of her vision.

  Suddenly, Malone shifted, rolling onto his side, positioning himself between Quinn and the yard. They were face-to-face now, the scar black in the darkness, his eyes gleaming. “You okay?”

  “Now that I can breathe, I am,” she responded, pushing onto her elbows, then her knees. She needed to stand, but she felt wobbly, every muscle trembling.

  “Sorry about that.” He got to his feet, lithe and oddly graceful, and held out a hand to help her up.

  Just like that, she was upright, still shaky, still trembling.

  Still alive.

  Thanks to Malone.

  “I think you just saved my life,” she said, and she could hear the shock in her voice, the terror. “Thank you.”

  “You might want to save your thanks until all this is over,” he said as he hurried her into the house.

  It wasn’t over? she wanted to ask, but Malone closed the door and left her standing in the darkness.

  Every light in the house had been turned off.

  Not a sound drifted into the living room.

  Was she alone?

  Should she turn on the lights?

  Was it safe to do that?

  Glass cracked under her feet as she moved through the room, bits of it glinting in the darkness.

  “Hello?” she called, picking her way into the hallway. “Jubilee?”

  “They just left with her,” someone said, his voice calm and quiet. She jumped anyway, whirling toward the speaker. He was in the threshold of the guestroom. Tall. Lean. Muscular. She couldn’t make out his face, but he didn’t look like any of the officers, and that made her nervous.

  “Where did you come from?”

  “I crawled through an open window.”

  “Usually only criminals do that.”

  “Or people who are trying to get in a locked door. I helped escort the CPS team to a vehicle that was waiting out back. When I tried to get back in, the door was locked. I’m Chance Miller, by the way. From HEART.”

  “Malone’s boss?”

  “I prefer to call myself his coworker. Unless he’s not listening to my instructions. Then I’m his boss.”

  “Does he usually listen?”

  “What do you think?”

  “No?”

  “Exactly. Take tonight for example. I told Malone to check on Kendal Anderson and go back to his vacation. Instead, he’s decided he needs to stick around.”

  “Jubilee,” she corrected, because the five-year-old needed some consistency in her life, some constancy. She’d lost her birth mother. She’d lost her stepmother. She’d lost the guy who’d been raising her with Tabitha. She did not need to lose her name.

  “Pardon?”

  “She goes by Jubilee now.”

  “Right. I got the memo. I’ve been hearing the other name for so long, it rolls out without much thought. Sorry about that.”

  “You don’t have to apologize to me, but someone sure does need to apologize to that little girl.”

  “You don’t think that’s your sister’s responsibility?” No edge in his voice, but she thought she heard a note of censure.

  “I don’t think my sister kidnapped your friend’s daughter, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I guess I might have been. Eventually Boone is going to need answers. Eventually Jubilee is
going to be old enough and mature enough to need them, too.”

  “They both deserve to know the truth. I’m just not sure my sister is the one who has it.”

  “Sometimes a wait and see approach is best. How about we do that this time? Withhold judgment until we know the truth? You won’t assume she doesn’t know. I won’t assume she does.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “You’re an agreeable person, Quinn. I usually am, too. Which means we’ll get along well for the next twelve hours.”

  “Twelve hours?”

  “The drive up to Maine. That’s about how long it takes.”

  “You’re going to—?”

  His phone buzzed, and he glanced at it. “Looks like we’re ready to head out.”

  “To Maine?”

  “Malone said you wanted to find your sister. My company is going to help you do that.”

  “Because you want to talk to her?”

  “Because she might be in trouble, and getting people out of trouble is what HEART specializes in.” The sincerity in his voice was undeniable, and she didn’t resist as he urged her through the living room and out the front door.

  Someone had parked an SUV near the porch, and Chance hurried her down the stairs and into the backseat.

  She thought she’d be sitting near the door, but he nudged her farther in, taking the seat next to the window.

  She could have scooted over, but Malone was there, gazing out the side window, his attention so focused, she wasn’t even sure he knew she was there.

  She felt hemmed in and uncomfortable, sandwiched between two men who’d been strangers a few minutes ago. “I’m going to need my Jeep when I get to Echo Lake,” she said, hoping they’d switch vehicles. She could drive the Jeep. The men would sit where they wanted.

  “I’ve got another team member driving it up for you,” Chance replied.

  “You didn’t think you should ask my permission first?”

  “No.” There was nothing agreeable about that one word, nothing that made her feel as if they were going to get along. As a matter of fact, Chance suddenly looked as hard and unapproachable as Malone.

  “Is there some reason why we’re not all going together?”

  “The perpetrator knows what your vehicle looks like. We’d rather you not be in it, if he tries something while we’re traveling.”

  “You don’t want to risk my life, but you’re willing to risk someone else’s.”