by Rita Herron
The missing girls were counting on him. Lives depended on it.
Determined to stay focused, he scanned the hall to make sure no one was lurking around, waiting to hurt Charlotte. Satisfied it was safe, he stepped to the vending machine, got a cup of coffee, then strode back to Charlotte’s room.
When he opened the door, the lights were on, but Charlotte was still, her dark hair fanned across the pillow, her eyes closed, her chest rising slowly with each breath.
She looked peaceful.
But the nightmares would return. If not in her sleep, when she woke up in the morning.
Suddenly Charlotte bolted upright. She clenched the sheets, shaking, her mouth parted in a scream.
“It’s all right,” he said softly.
Her breathing was erratic. “Honey?”
“She and Harrison left.” He brushed his hand over hers. “It’s Lucas. I’m right here.”
“Lucas?”
“Yes, I’m staying tonight so you can rest.” But tomorrow he’d push her to describe the tattoos. A sketch artist might help as well.
She exhaled, then rubbed a hand over her eyes, and his heart went out to her. “I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice.
“You have nothing to be sorry about, Charlotte, so don’t apologize again. Just lie back and sleep. Hopefully you’ll feel better in the morning.” Either that, or the drugs the doctor gave her would wear off, and she’d be in pain. Reality would be difficult, especially if her world was pitched in darkness.
“You don’t have to stay, Lucas.”
“I’m not leaving.” He eased her back to rest against the pillows. “Now, go to sleep.”
She pulled the covers up over her. Lucas gritted his teeth at the sight of the ugly bruise on her forehead peeking below the edge of the bandage. Anyone who hurt a woman was a monster in his book.
Hurting a child was even worse.
He would find these bastards and make them pay for what they’d done.
Charlotte settled under the blanket and closed her eyes, but sadness lingered on her face.
Damn. She was so beautiful he could barely take his eyes off her. He wanted to wipe out her pain and worry.
He wanted to see her smile.
Oblivious to his thoughts, she winced as she rolled to her side. Her shoulder, the stitches...she was uncomfortable.
But she didn’t complain. Instead, she closed her eyes and lay in silence.
He flipped off the overhead light, then settled into the recliner beside her bed to stand guard.
No one was going to get to her tonight. Or any other time.
He’d kill anyone who tried.
* * *
CHARLOTTE WOKE THE next morning to the sound of rumbling. For a moment she was disoriented.
The noise again. Soft. Masculine.
Reality rushed back, robbing her of breath. Her students were missing...
The sound—snoring, a man’s snoring... Lucas Hawk, Federal agent. He was guarding her because those horrible men wanted to kill her.
She jerked her eyes open, a sliver of light causing her to wince in pain. Then a total void again.
Despair threatened, but she tamped it down.
Still, she felt trapped in this room. Trapped in the dark.
She raked tangled hair from her face and pushed herself to a sitting position. Where were Evie and Mae Lynn and Adrian and Agnes? What had happened to them?
The door squeaked open and footsteps echoed.
Rustling. Then Lucas’s voice. “I must have dozed off.”
“No problem, Agent Hawk.” Haley’s voice. “I’m going to check her vitals and help her get a bath,” Haley said. “The doctor will be here in a minute. A vision-rehabilitation therapist is also going to talk with her about handling her vision loss.”
Emotion welled in Charlotte’s throat. But she couldn’t fall apart.
Like it or not, she had to make adjustments.
“I’d like to ask her a few questions,” Lucas said. “And maybe get a sketch artist in here.”
Footsteps again, coming closer. Then Lucas’s masculine scent swirled around her. “Is that all right with you, Charlotte?” Lucas asked.
“Of course. Although I doubt if I can tell you anything more than I did yesterday.”
“The analyst at the Bureau sent pics of tattoos similar to what you described. I was hoping we could narrow down the details.”
The door opened again, and Charlotte heard more footsteps. “I have breakfast,” a cheery female voice said.
Haley cleared her throat. “Give her some time this morning,” Haley said to Lucas. “Let her clean up and have something to eat then you can come back.”
“All right. But I’ll be outside the door.”
“Lucas, I’m fine here with the nurse,” Charlotte said. “Go home. Get breakfast and a shower.”
“I’m not leaving until Deputy Bronson shows up to stand guard.”
A reminder that her life was in danger.
“But I’ll go get some coffee and be right back.”
The door closed behind him, then Haley spoke. “How are you feeling this morning, Charlotte?”
Like she’d been run over by a train. “All right. I’m ready for coffee and a bath.” Then she needed to focus on recovering her memory of the attack.
She had to do something to help find her students before it was too late.
* * *
LUCAS GRABBED COFFEE and a sausage biscuit from the café, then checked his messages as he ate. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but a few hours rest would help today.
Harrison had asked Deputy Bronson to check out the foster parents yesterday so he punched his number.
“Deputy Bronson, it’s Agent Hawk,” Lucas said when the man answered. “What did you learn about the foster families?”
Bronson made a low sound in his throat, and Lucas realized he must have awakened him. “Let me grab my notes.” Noises echoed, then the deputy returned.
“Okay,” Bronson said. “Girl named Evie, thirteen, lived with a single woman named Joleen. She’s midfifties, moving to Florida to be near her grandkids so was about to turn Evie back over to the state. She said Evie behaved at her house, but she’d been in some trouble before. Wouldn’t talk about it.”
It might not be important, but he’d find out what that was about. “Go on.”
“Mae Lynn lived with a couple named Ruth and Philip Cables. According to the couple, Mae Lynn was quiet, withdrawn, depressed. She was a cutter. They thought she needed more help than they could give her and already talked to the social worker about putting her in a residential treatment program.”
Poor kid.
“What about the sisters, Adrian and Agnes?”
“Financials indicate that the couple fostering them had money troubles. Husband had been out of work with a herniated disc. Lost his job and disability ran out.”
“Were they keeping the girls long-term?”
“They didn’t say. The woman seemed concerned about them, said the other foster kids in the house were upset about the kidnapping.”
“How many others do they have?”
“Three. All boys,” Bronson said.
Maybe the foster father wanted it that way?
* * *
THE BATH FELT heavenly and renewed Charlotte’s energy. Haley helped her dress in a fresh gown, which made her feel a world better as well.
“Your vitals are normal, and your wounds look good, too,” the doctor said. “But it’ll take time for you to regain your strength.”
“And my vision?”
“Your tests are inconclusive. I’m afraid you’ll have to be patient and give your body time for the swelling to go down, then we’ll be able to tell more.” He patted her shoulder. “Don’t give up hope. Mean
while, our vision therapist is going to talk with you.”
“When can I go home?”
A tense pause. “Are you ready to go home? Do you have someone at your place to help you while you recover?”
Charlotte drew in a deep breath. “I live alone, but I’ll manage.”
Another heartbeat passed. “I realize you’re a strong, independent woman,” the doctor said. “But you’ve suffered a trauma and you need to heal both physically and emotionally. Vision loss, even temporary, presents challenges.”
She gritted her teeth. “I’m aware of that.” Anger at feeling helpless washed over her. She had no idea how she was going to cope. But she couldn’t lie in this room in the dark forever.
But like it or not, she was going to need help adjusting. “I’ll talk with that therapist about how to handle things at home.”
“Good. Work with her and then we’ll discuss your release.”
Shuffling sounded and he left the room. Charlotte reached for the coffee on the tray that food service had brought, but her hand knocked it over and she yelped as hot coffee spilled onto the table and into her lap.
Frustrated, she pushed away the tray and lifted the sheet from her thighs. Footsteps shuffled, then she recognized Lucas’s voice.
“Here, let me help.”
Tears burned the backs of her eyelids. “No, I’ve got it.”
But she didn’t have it. And the fact that she couldn’t have a cup of coffee or eat breakfast without help made her sick inside.
She hadn’t relied on anyone but herself for so long. How was she going to live on her own?
Worse, how was she going to help find her students if she was so weak?
* * *
EVIE SCOOTED CLOSER to Mae Lynn. She was worried about the girl. She’d stopped crying and drifted into a silent shell. That was worse than the bawling.
Adrian and Agnes were huddled together in the corner on the floor, shell-shocked but alert as if they were waiting for their abductors to return.
Evie had no idea where they were. They’d been traveling for what seemed like hours, over hills and bumps. Once she’d heard water, and felt like they were on a bridge.
In the movies, the people listened for sounds so they could figure out where they were being taken.
But hell, that stupid drug they’d given her had knocked her out and she’d lost too much time. It was so damn dark in here that she didn’t even know if it was daytime or nighttime.
She nudged Mae Lynn’s arm with her hands. She’d been trying to rip that zip tie off but had only managed to make her wrists bleed. “Stay strong, Mae Lynn,” Evie said. “We’re going to get out of here.”
Mae Lynn didn’t budge. Didn’t even blink. She just stared into space.
“You know what they’re going to do to us, don’t you?” Adrian said.
Evie chewed her bottom lip and nodded. “But we’re not going to let them. We’ll escape.”
“How?” Agnes whispered, her voice raw from crying.
“I don’t know yet,” Evie said. “But we have to stay strong. When the right time comes, we’ll find a way.” She hesitated. “For now, try to think of what we’ll do and where we’ll go when we get away.”
The girls looked at her as if she was insane. She couldn’t blame them. The room or container, wherever they were, was dark and cold and the air felt stale.
But she closed her eyes and imagined Ms. Charlotte’s studio. It was the first place where she’d felt happy.
She pictured herself dipping the brush into bright yellow paint and saw herself painting the sunrise. Orange and red came next, then a garden with beautiful wildflowers in pale lavender and purple. Butterflies fluttered above the flowers and grass, an ocean of colors dancing as the butterflies soared around her face.
She’d never seen this place, but she would survive and find it one day. And nothing would stop her from picking those wildflowers and chasing the butterflies in the garden.
Chapter Eight
The next two days were tense and long for Charlotte. Just as he’d promised, Lucas kept someone posted at her door.
The day before, she worked with a sketch artist to describe the kidnappers for a mock-up to show to the public, but she struggled for details that might help and ended up feeling even more anxious.
Between fatigue, headaches and her frustration over losing her sight, despair pulled at her.
But each time her hope slipped, she imagined Evie singing as she painted, imagined Adrian and Agnes chattering about the horses they wanted to own one day, and Mae Lynn with her big, sad eyes brightening when Charlotte praised her knack for mixing colors to create shades that gave her paintings a layered, thought-provoking look. The girl had talent and didn’t know it.
The vision therapist had been teaching her tips on coping without her sight. She’d agreed to come to Charlotte’s house, help her organize her rooms so she could function independently and be somewhat self-sufficient.
Charlotte was ready to dive in. Anything to leave the hospital and this room.
Last night, when everything grew quiet, the memories of the attack had haunted her. She’d lain awake for hours, wondering where the girls were and what was happening to them.
She was beginning to think Lucas had overreacted to the media coverage of her survival. She wanted to call off the guards, but he insisted on keeping watch.
Having him near her made her uncomfortable. Nervous.
Not because she feared him, though.
Because his deep, husky voice sounded sexy and triggered visions of Lucas holding her and kissing her.
She silently chastised herself. Why was she lusting after the man when they hadn’t found her students?
The door opened, and immediately Lucas’s sultry scent wafted to her. Raw. Masculine. Woodsy.
Her heart fluttered. On the heels of her reaction, reality intruded. “Do you have news, Lucas?”
His footfalls came closer. “I’m afraid not. Harrison and his deputy and I have combed the area and searched a half-dozen abandoned warehouses, ranches and farms, but found nothing.”
Disappointment mushroomed inside her. “Then the kidnappers may be long gone.”
“It’s possible,” Lucas said, his own voice rough with frustration.
“How about the other agents?” Charlotte said. “You said they were going to the border and to Miami.”
“So far, nothing concrete. If this ring is as organized as we believe, they may have paid off officials to help them cross the border.”
Charlotte’s stomach twisted. The men—and her students—could be in Mexico or off to another country, where they’d never find them. “I wish I could help more.”
“You just need to focus on your recovery.”
“I am doing that,” Charlotte said. “But that’s not enough.”
“We’re all frustrated and worried,” Lucas said quietly. “It might not mean anything, but let’s talk about your students again. The report on the girl named Evie hinted that she’d been in trouble before, but the court records were sealed. Do you know what happened to her?”
Charlotte swallowed hard. She did know. And he’d asked her this question before, but she’d deflected it each time. She didn’t want to break Evie’s confidence.
“Why do you think it’s important?” she asked.
“It might not be, but we have to consider the possibility that someone in Tumbleweed or one of the foster parents could be involved.”
Charlotte massaged her temple where another headache was beginning to pulse. Evie had shot one of her foster parents.
Could he possibly be involved?
* * *
LUCAS SENSED THAT Charlotte didn’t want to divulge private information about Evie. But they’d reached a dead end, and he had to explore every angle.
&nb
sp; For years, his family had believed that Chrissy had been abducted and taken somewhere far away from Tumbleweed. Yet she’d been right outside town all along.
Not that the two situations were the same. This kidnapping was definitely a professional job. It had to be linked to the others.
Still, someone in town could be part of this group.
“Charlotte?”
“I don’t see how it could be connected,” she said.
He waited, letting the silence stretch between them, a technique he’d learned to get people to open up.
“Evie is special to me,” Charlotte said, her fingers twisting a strand of hair that draped her shoulder. “She’s been through bad times, but she always finds a way to be optimistic. Honestly, bringing her into the group was like a ray of sunshine. Mae Lynn tends to withdraw inside herself. I worry about her more than any of them.”
“I understand that you care about them,” Lucas said. “But if someone contacted one of the girls on the computer, she may have inadvertently led them to your studio, where they knew a group would be together.”
“You checked their computers and social-network sites?” Charlotte asked.
“My analyst is working on it. The people Mae Lynn were staying with didn’t have internet access. The couple who were keeping Adrian and Agnes said theirs was limited but allowed us access. So far, the only thing Keenan found was a couple of links to horse camps.”
Charlotte pressed her hand to her mouth as if stifling her emotions. “Those girls want to ride more than anything in this world. I just pray we find them and I can help make that dream come true.”
Lucas swallowed hard. “We will make that happen,” he said, knowing he shouldn’t make promises he might not be able to keep. But Charlotte had suffered enough, and he wanted to offer her hope.
Although he was starting to lose it himself.
“Evie’s foster mother said Evie didn’t spend much time on the computer. She liked to sit outside and draw most of the time.”
“That sounds like Evie,” Charlotte said, her voice wistful when she said Evie’s name.
“The girl you describe, the optimistic artistic one, doesn’t sound like the type who’d have a record. Tell me what happened, Charlotte.”