Lullabies and Lies

by Mallory Kane

  “Or the Grosses. When you met with Ed Gross, did he threaten you? Did he say anything suspicious?”

  “No. He just snapped at me that he and his wife didn’t have any children. He was lying.”

  “Yeah? How can you be so sure?”

  Her mouth turned up in a tiny smile. “He was a terrible liar. He started sweating as soon as I told him why I was there. He couldn’t wait to be rid of me.”

  “Well, someone thinks Mabry told you something. Something they didn’t want to go any further.”

  Sunny stared at him with those wide green eyes that demanded loyalty and truth.

  He didn’t have a shred of proof, but he knew in his gut that Mabry’s death had been no accident. “That means, Ms. Loveless, that not only is your baby in danger, so are you.”

  She laughed, a choked, desperate sound. “You think I care about me? I don’t! All I care about is Emily.”

  “I understand.” He did. All too well.

  “Tell me the truth. Do you think Emily is okay? They’d need to keep her safe, right? To be sure I cooperate?”

  He heard in her voice that she didn’t believe her own words. Reluctantly, he met her gaze. “I wish I could—”

  “Just tell me.”

  Griff spoke as calmly as he could. “I’m sorry, Ms. Loveless. We have no way of knowing if she’s still alive or not. I know how hard this is—”

  Sunny’s anguished gaze met his, and a flame of fury glinted in her green eyes. “Do you have children, Agent Stone?” she asked coldly.

  He winced. “No.”

  She lifted her chin as a single tear rolled down her cheek. “Then you cannot possibly know how hard this is.”

  Chapter Four

  Griff felt as if she’d slapped him.

  During his years with the FBI, he’d heard those words before. And each time he heard them, they tore another hole in his heart.

  He’d consoled frantic parents whose desperate fear turned into rage against the people who were trying to help them, because they couldn’t get to the kidnappers. So he’d always responded with respect, concern and assurance. Usually his calm demeanor consoled the terrified families.

  He’d never taken it personally. His feelings didn’t matter. He was a professional. His job was not to share his private anguish, it was to offer comfort and find the truth. He’d never even been tempted to share his own personal feelings.

  Until now.

  He clenched his jaw against the urge to tell Sunny that he did know exactly how hard it was for her, that he’d been through it all himself. It would do her no good to know that he spent a part of every single day searching for his sister.

  “I apologize, Ms. Loveless,” he said. “You’re right.”

  Sunny looked at him curiously, her hands squeezed so tightly together that her knuckles were stark white.

  “Some of the very best agents the FBI has are working on your little girl’s case right now. What I need from you is a promise to cooperate fully. The more we know, the better our chances. You can’t do this alone.”

  Sunny nodded, her head bent. “I know that.” She lifted her head, her face taut with pain. “I hope I haven’t waited too long.

  Her lower lip trembled. A tear gathered at the corner of her eye and slipped down her cheek.

  He knew she was terrified of what the kidnapper might do.

  So was he.

  He read through the second note again.

  Remember, I’m watching you.

  “Have you noticed anyone following you? Any cars sitting outside?”

  “People park on the street. I haven’t noticed any strange vehicles, but I’ve had other things on my mind. You should ask Lil.”

  “I will.” He gestured. “You’re sure you don’t have any idea what the kidnapper is hiding?”

  “I’m sure. I’ve never had an unhappy client.”

  “Never? What about Jennifer? I’m sure there are others you haven’t been able to help.”

  “Well, yes, but I’ve given each of them a full refund. I wouldn’t classify them as unhappy.”

  “It doesn’t have to be an unhappy client. For instance, what was your most recent case?” Griff knew about all her cases, but he wanted her to talk about them. She’d been there, seen things that wouldn’t be found in a case file.

  She sniffed impatiently. “A couple of weeks ago an elderly lady hired me to contact the members of her high school cheerleading squad. It was very simple. I found most of them via the Internet. The rest I located through friends and alumni records from the high school. She’s planning a reunion now.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand. The people I help have nothing against me. Why would they steal my daughter?”

  “What if one of those cheerleaders had just poisoned her son-in-law because he’d been beating his wife, her daughter?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Sunny laughed in disbelief.

  Griff spread his hands. “Not the greatest example in the world, but in working on a case, you could innocently stumble upon a crime in progress, or someone like Gross, who’s running for office and doesn’t want his dirty laundry aired. Your questions could push an unstable person over the edge.”

  Sunny’s eyes narrowed.

  Good. Griff felt a surge of triumph. She was getting over the idea of her clients as innocent people she was bound to protect.

  “You need to change the way you think about your cases. Forget the happy endings cr—stuff. Think of each client as a suspect, guilty until proven innocent.”

  Her brow furrowed and her eyes snapped with irritation. “That defeats the whole purpose of my—”

  “Tell me about every case you’ve ever had, no matter how small, starting with the cheerleaders. Were any of the ladies reluctant—” Griff stopped when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the Caller ID. It was Lieutenant Carver.

  “Carver, what have you got?”

  “Looks like Mabry’s death is going to be ruled accidental.”

  Griff balled his fist. “Damn it. I need to see the CSI report and the medical examiner’s findings.”

  “I’ll arrange it. Meanwhile, I do have some good news. Brittany Elliott came through with some information. Turns out that when her boyfriend got out of prison about two months ago, he contacted her. Told her he wanted her to go out West with him. Just her and their baby. He apparently became violent when he found out the same private investigator who’d gotten him sent to prison had adopted his child.”

  “Violent? Against the girl?”

  “Nah. Busted up some furniture, though.”

  “Have you located him?”

  “Not yet. We’re still working on it.”

  “Okay, thanks. When you find him I want to talk to him.” Griff paused. “Carver, I need a twenty-four hour watch on Ms. Loveless’s house.”

  “I’m already devoting twelve man-hours a day to her, in case the kidnapper tries to contact her personally.”

  “The note on her windshield was a note from the kidnapper. It warned that someone she knows could be hurt.”

  “Was there a ransom demand?” Carver’s voice rose in excitement.

  “Nope. I believe the kidnapper is referring to Mabry’s death, but just in case, I’d like an unmarked car in the area at all times.”

  “Can’t do it. I’ll make sure a black-and-white drives by every hour.”

  “Remove your officer from the house and give us a car instead. I don’t think there’s going to be a ransom demand. This isn’t about money.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  Griff disconnected.

  He looked up to find Sunny staring intently at him.

  “Who is Lieutenant Carver looking for?”

  “Burt Means.”

  “I testified at his trial for statutory rape. Brittany was just fifteen. He was twenty.”

  Griff’s gaze pinned her. “Well he’s contacted her.”

  Her eyes widened in shock. “Has Lieutenant Carver found him?”

>   “No. They’re still looking. Carver’s contacting his parole officer.”

  “We’ve received some odd phone calls. Usually at night. We’ll have to look in Lil’s logbook, but I think one caller said something about meddling in other people’s affairs. You think he could have done this?”

  “It’s a lead. Like I said earlier, most child abductions are perpetrated by a family member.”

  “But what about the Grosses?”

  “They’ll be questioned, of course. I don’t believe Mabry’s fall was an accident, but there’s no evidence to link it to your case. I can’t afford to ignore any possible lead. And neither can you.”

  “I understand that. I gave the list of odd phone calls to the police. We’ve always gotten crank calls, because of the ‘happy endings’ stuff. I’ve never worried much about them.”

  “Maybe you should have.”

  A flash of pain crossed her face. “It’s easy for you to walk in here with your twenty-twenty hindsight.”

  She pulled the band out of her hair and combed her fingers through it. “Do you think I haven’t lain awake at night, thinking about everyone I’ve come in contact with? Every case I’ve handled? Don’t you think Lil and I have gone over every telephone call?”

  Something in Griff’s gaze shifted. The odd glints of blue and violet intensified. “I know you have.” He reached out and stopped her nervous hand with his. “Tell me about them.”

  He put her hand on the table and patted it, then withdrew, but Sunny felt his taut resolve and reassurance. She didn’t know why her case was so important to him. Maybe he approached every case with this single-minded intensity.

  Even as the thought emerged, she knew it wasn’t entirely true. He tried to maintain a businesslike demeanor. She understood that. She did the same thing. Remaining calm and detached while being sympathetic worked very well with nervous or distraught clients.

  He’d started out that way with her, but underneath his professional exterior was a fervor that called to her.

  Griff Stone was on a personal mission. She didn’t know his reasons, but she understood that much. She’d been on one all her life. The sign on her door wasn’t just a catchy logo. It was her goal. To find a happy ending for everyone. Including herself.

  “Sunny? The phone calls?”

  “Lil records all of them in a log. She also transcribes all the voice messages.” Sunny smiled. “She was an IRS investigator. To her, everyone is suspicious.”

  Griff’s mouth turned up. “Not a bad way to be. A little cynical, but healthy. So I take it you’re not quite as conscientious?”

  Sunny shook her head. “I’ll get the book.”

  Griff followed her into the foyer that served as a reception area. “How did the burglar miss the telephone log?”

  “About once a month, Lil takes it home with her to log our time. She had it that night.”

  Griff looked at the neat precise records. “These entries in purple are answering service messages?

  “Right.” She turned a few pages. “Here it is. March twenty-fifth. Lil has it recorded at eight-thirty p.m. She was keeping Emily. I was out of town overnight, working on a case.”

  Griff read the entry.

  “Male voice. Age hard to tell. Possibly a phone booth. Background noise. ‘You’re messin’ in people’s lives. It’s gonna get you in trouble.’”

  He raised his eyebrows. “She wrote it in dialect?”

  “Lil believes the way people talk can tell a lot about them. She spells the words the way she hears them, in case we need proof for an ID. She also downloads all the calls and voice messages onto CD.”

  “Where are the CDs?”

  Sunny shook her head. “They were stolen in the break-in. Do you think the message was from Burt?”

  “The timing is right. He would have just been released. But the warning is vague, nonspecific.”

  “Like the notes.”

  He nodded.

  “What do you know about Means?”

  “He apparently worked construction with Brittany’s best friend’s older brother. Brittany’s mother thought she was too young to date. So when she met Burt, she fell head over heels in love. You know how girls love the dangerous, physical type. Especially if they’re off-limits.”

  He couldn’t help but wonder what her tiny shrug meant. Nor could he stop himself from imagining what type she liked. Probably the safe, buttoned-down accountant type.

  Although this morning, dressed in those light blue capri pants and a dark blue linen shirt over a little white tank top, with her hair down and no makeup on, she looked nothing like the stiff businesswoman he’d met yesterday.

  Griff’s cell phone rang. “Yeah?”

  Sunny turned pages in the logbook, looking for other odd entries.

  Griff muttered a curse and closed his phone. “That was Carver again. Means’s parole officer came up empty on his whereabouts. He hasn’t been in touch with him for over a week now. And he’s been in contact with Brittany Elliott again.”

  Sunny’s heart thumped in her throat. “You think he has Emily? What did Brittany say?”

  Was Emily in the hands of her angry biological father, who probably felt that he’d been wrongly imprisoned, and blamed Sunny for his troubles?

  “Brittany’s mother heard her on the phone. But Brittany swears she hasn’t seen him since he got out.”

  “They need to check her phone records—home and cell, and put somebody on her to watch her movements.”

  Griff’s eyes sparked with a touch of disguised amusement.

  She bit her lip. “They already are.”

  He nodded, and let his hand brush her shoulder, nothing more than a touch, but the gesture comforted her. “You’re not the investigator in this case. You’re the mother. Let the police do their job, and you do yours. Show me the other odd messages, and try to remember any threats you’ve received, no matter how innocuous they seemed.”

  Sunny continued going through the telephone log book with Griff watching over her shoulder.

  The front doorbell rang. She looked up as the police officer on duty answered it.

  It was Fred, the mailman.

  “Hi, Sunny,” Fred said, peering around the bulky form of the officer. “Got something for you.” He held it up and wiggled it. “Funny thing, though, it doesn’t have a stamp—”

  “Hold it!” the officer barked. “Put that down.”

  Sunny’s heart jumped into her throat. “What’s the matter?” She stood and rounded the desk.

  “Stand back, ma’am,” the officer cautioned, as Griff pushed past her.

  Fred froze, wide-eyed. “It looked harmless enough. I thought maybe—”

  “Put it down.” Griff commanded. “Carefully.”

  Fred, pale and shaky, set the package on the ground and backed away from it.

  Griff crouched down beside the package and studied the writing and wrapping.

  “The print is block letters.” He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Carver.

  “Carver, get the bomb squad over here. We’ve got a suspicious package. Small, about six by four inches. Height maybe three inches.” He snapped his phone shut and rose. “Officer, take the mailman outside and get a statement.”

  The officer nodded and gestured to Fred, who followed him willingly.

  “Sun—Ms. Loveless, go outside. Did I understand that Lillian lives next door?”

  “Yes.”

  “Get her and go down the block. At least two more houses. Wait there.”

  “What are you going to do?” Sunny asked, eyeing the package.

  “Stay here with the package.”

  “No!” Sunny surprised herself by the vehemence of her outburst.

  Griff looked up at her.

  “I mean—if it’s a bomb, you should get away from it, too.”

  He shook his head. “Someone has to guard it.”

  “Well, why does it have to be you? Can’t we watch it from across the street or something?�
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  “I’ll watch it. You go with Lillian.”

  “I’m staying with you.”

  “That’s an unnecessary risk. What good are you going to be to Emily if you get yourself blown to bits? Get out of here.”

  Chastened, Sunny had to admit that he was right. Reluctantly, she stepped over to the door. “At least stand outside until the bomb squad gets here, please? You’re not going to be any good to—to me if you get blown up.”

  Griff sighed and rose.

  Sunny’s limbs went limp with relief. She did not want this man’s blood on her conscience. It was suddenly terribly important to her that he stay healthy and whole.

  It was probably because he seemed to know what she was going through. He seemed to care about finding Emily as much as she did. But as he’d stood, and his thigh muscles rippled under the crisp khaki of his pants, she’d been surprised by the tiny thrill that slid through her. How wonderful it would be to have a man like Griff to care for her, to hold her during the scary times, to share the good times.

  Reluctantly, she turned her back and left the house, listening to be sure he followed her.

  When the bomb squad got there, one lanky, buzz-cut guy immediately took charge of the scene, dispatching uniformed officers to knock on doors up and down the street.

  Lillian answered her door. Immediately she pointed toward Sunny and said something to the officer, who shook his head, and led her down the street, away from Sunny’s house.

  Sunny waved reassuringly at her.

  “Go on,” Griff said. “Go with Lillian.”

  “I want to stay here.”

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  Sunny glanced up at him. “I’ll go when you go.”

  Griff scowled at her.

  The buzz-cut guy was still barking orders and gesturing. All at once her attention zeroed in on his hand. He was missing two fingers. Memories of that awful night washed over her.

  She’d almost forgotten the distinguishing feature she’d noticed on her attacker. Through the leather gloves, she’d had the impression that her attacker was missing a finger—maybe two.

  She couldn’t pinpoint when or how she’d come to that conclusion—something about the way the leather had flopped against her chin as the note had been stuffed into her mouth.