Lullabies and Lies

by Mallory Kane

  “I’ll try.”

  Her eyes drifted closed. Griff doubted she’d have much trouble keeping that promise.

  He checked in with the hospital, and found that Bess’s condition hadn’t changed. The nurse told him the same thing. She said they hoped to take her off the ventilator before morning.

  Then he called Captain Sparks, apologizing for the time. After he hung up he turned to let Sunny know the meager information the CSI Team had gathered from Bess Raymond’s house, but she’d fallen asleep.

  He watched her for a minute, as desire stirred in him. He was getting used to the torture of being so close to her. It was a sweet pain, to want her so badly.

  She looked so small, so precious, lying there. He walked over and crouched by the bed, touching the little wrinkle between her brows with his thumb.

  She stirred and mumbled something.

  He leaned in and kissed her parted lips.

  “Griff.” Her mouth moved against his, and he cursed himself for waking her.

  “Go to sleep,” he whispered.

  She lifted one hand and laid her palm against his cheek, and kissed him, her mouth soft with drowsiness, her breath like a faint breeze against his lips. Then her hand slid down his chest and her head relaxed against the pillow.

  Griff closed his eyes and rose, wincing as his jeans rubbed against the sensitized flesh of his arousal.

  He wiped his face and sighed, then sat at the desk and switched on his laptop. But his gaze strayed back to Sunny. When this was all over, he’d be able to walk away.

  It’ll be enough to see her reunited with Emily, he told himself.

  Liar.

  128 hours missing

  SUNNY AWOKE CURLED into a fetal position, all scrunched up, with her hands fisted. She stretched. Her shoulders ached, her legs and hips were cramped and hurting.

  And as soon as she came fully awake, her insides echoed with emptiness and her chest throbbed with pain. Emily. Emily was still gone.

  The faint sound of the shower came from the bathroom and through the heavy hotel curtains, she saw a sliver of morning light. Stretching her cramped muscles with a groan, she sat up. Where was she?

  The last thing she remembered was the soft brush of Griff’s mouth against hers.

  Slowly, the events of the last hours came back to her. She rubbed her burning eyes. She was in a hotel with Griffin Stone. She’d slept all night, thanks to the damn sedative he’d forced on her.

  Sedative! Her daughter was missing, and she’d slept through the night. Anger at herself and Griff washed over her like scalding hot water. She had to get up, get dressed. Do something.

  She turned over. Judging by the pristine neatness of the bedclothes beside her, Griff hadn’t slept there. The other double bed was unwrinkled, too. Had he stayed up all night?

  She glanced around, looking for her suitcase, and her gaze lit on Griff’s laptop. It was turned away from her but she could see the flickering glow from the monitor.

  She climbed out of bed and walked around the desk. On the screen was a really nice photo of a dog catching a Frisbee. As she watched, it faded out and a classic photo of the Parthenon in Centennial Park in Nashville appeared.

  Fascinated, Sunny sat down. The next photograph was a close-up of a laughing toddler with dark hair and eyes the color of Griff’s.

  Sunny studied the photo. Was that Griff when he was little? Sunny shook her head. No, the child’s clothes, and a tiny pink bow in her thick, dark hair proclaimed that she was a girl. His sister?

  She didn’t know if he had any family. She didn’t really know anything about him, except that he was good at his job, and somehow he understood her pain. And he was a very generous lover.

  The photograph changed again, and this time, the photographer had shot the little girl from about ten feet away. She was eating cotton candy and grinning. Several onlookers were watching her.

  Sunny leaned in, studying the photo, trying to get a better look at the people. Something about it was odd.

  The photograph began to fade. She touched the mouse, hoping to stop the photo from disappearing.

  Immediately, she realized her mistake. She’d been watching the screen saver. The picture was gone.

  Now she was staring at the last file Griff had been working on. It was his database of missing children.

  But it wasn’t open to page one, where his newest cases were listed. It was on the last page. Her heart beating with anticipation, she scanned the earliest entries.

  In the bathroom, the shower cut off. She glanced briefly toward the closed bathroom door and pushed the chair back. He’d asked her not to look at his files.

  But her eyes were drawn to the screen. To the oldest entry.

  It was June 30, 1991. Fifteen years ago. The date was familiar.

  Her eyes scanned the fields. Date of disappearance, city, state, abductee’s name and age—

  “Oh, no,” she whispered. “Oh, Griff…”

  He’d told her this was just a job to him. But she’d known from the first day that he was lying.

  Now, five days later, she knew why. It had never been just a job.

  I can’t do this anymore, he’d told his boss. The pain in those words had cut her. He’d told her he was an expert in missing children cases. He cared deeply about the people he helped, but he was quitting.

  He was giving up.

  The bathroom door opened and he emerged, bringing a puff of hot, humid air with him. He wore nothing but jeans. His bare chest and arms were sprinkled with crystalline water droplets, and he’d slung his towel around his neck.

  But not even his sexy, half-naked presence could keep her attention away from what she’d just read. She dragged her eyes away from his lean waist, his taut, muscled abs, his broad shoulders, and stared at the name written next to the oldest date in his database.

  Marianne Stone. Eighteen months old. Unsolved.

  “What are you doing?” He stalked over to the desk and slammed the laptop closed.

  He loomed over her, close enough that she could feel the damp heat that wafted from his skin, smell the faintly perfumed soap he’d showered with, and the herbal scent of his shampoo.

  Close enough that she could feel his agitation.

  “I told you not to look at my files.”

  Sunny looked up at him. “Marianne was your sister?”

  His head jerked, his gaze met hers, and for an instant, Sunny saw how deep his pain went. She saw all the way down to his soul.

  He whipped the towel off his neck and threw it as hard as he could toward the bathroom, cursing under his breath. Then he rounded on her.

  “Why couldn’t you leave it alone?” His voice was choked with emotion. “It has nothing to do with your case.”

  Sunny stood, a little frightened by his vehemence, her heart breaking at the grief etched on his face. “That’s her in the pictures, isn’t it? She was beautiful.” Her eyes filled with tears.

  He turned pale, started to say something, then stopped. He sent her a slight negative shake of his head.

  “What happened to her?”

  “You read the entry.” His voice was brittle.

  She nodded. “Unsolved.” She put her hand over her mouth to muffle a quiet sob.

  “What’s the matter, Sunny? Afraid I’m not capable of finding Emily?”

  “What? No, of course not.”

  “You asked about the Senator’s son the first day we met. My guess is suddenly you’re having serious doubts about my ability.”

  Each word was a dagger, piercing her heart. His back was straight, his head held high, but Sunny saw through his indignation. She saw for the first time what he was afraid of.

  He doubted his ability.

  She shook her head. “I believe you can find Emily. I have to.”

  “Then what the hell difference does it make what happened fifteen years ago? Or last month? Why is it so important to you?”

  Tears clogged her throat. “It’s important to me
because it’s important to you. Because it’s part of you. Please tell me about her.”

  He stood, still as a stone, and spoke in a quiet, even voice. “She was a year and a half old. I was fourteen—old enough to be responsible for my little sister. But I was more interested in my new camera. I was taking pictures, and when I turned around, her stroller was empty.”

  Sunny gasped. “The pictures on your screen saver—they’re from the day she disappeared.”

  He nodded, his shoulders bowed.

  “Fifteen years.” Her imagination jumped fifteen years into the future, to a world without Emily. A world where she woke up every morning and asked herself whether there was something she could have done. Whether she could live another day without her baby.

  “Oh, my God, Griff. How can you bear it?”

  The look on his face gave her the answer. He couldn’t, and yet he did. Each day of the past fifteen years was carved into the granitelike harshness of his jaw.

  She looked at his laptop, then back at him. “That’s how,” she whispered. “That’s why you do this.”

  “Get dressed, Sunny. We need to talk to the Crime Scene unit, and check on Bess Raymond.” He grabbed a T-shirt and pulled it over his head.

  “No. I want to see those pictures.”

  “I thought you wanted to find Emily,” he threw at her.

  She lifted her chin. “I saw something in one of them. It’s important.”

  Griff ran his hands down the T-shirt to smooth it before tucking it into the waistband of his jeans. He was a little surprised to find that he still had skin.

  Sunny had flayed him wide open with her questions and insights. And now she wanted to see his photographs? His private failure? He’d never shown anyone as much as she’d dug out of him in these past five days.

  “No.”

  “Griff, please. I need to see it again. I may have—recognized someone.”

  “Recognized someone? Who?” He studied her keenly. What was she up to? Her number-one priority was finding her daughter. Why did she suddenly want to delay to look at his photos?

  Her gaze was sharp, earnest, determined. She wasn’t lying. But what was she talking about? He glanced at his watch. Seven thirty.

  “Those photos were taken fifteen years ago, in Centennial Park on a Sunday. It’s entirely possible that someone you knew might have been there, and gotten into one of the pictures.”

  “That’s not it.” She took a deep breath and shook her head. “I can’t explain it. But I have to look again.”

  She looked up at him with those trusting, sad green eyes. “It has something to do with Emily, I’m sure of it.”

  Griff sat at the desk and opened the laptop. He accessed the graphics files where his photographs were stored. He had to steel himself to look at the file names.

  Sunny read them. “Marianne, Parthenon, dog with Frisbee, Marianne stroller—that one. Try Marianne stroller.”

  Griff opened the file. “That’s the very last photo I took of Marianne.” Never-shed tears roughened his voice.

  Sunny laid her hand on his arm and the gentle understanding of her touch almost undid him. He clenched his jaw and concentrated all his strength on remaining detached.

  “I turned around and saw the dog chasing the Frisbee. I moved a few steps away, sighting through the camera lens to catch the best shot. When I turned back, Marianne’s—” he had to stop and clear his throat “—Marianne’s stroller was lying on its side and she was gone.”

  His eyes devoured the pretty round face, with the dark, dark lashes and deep violet eyes that were so much like his own. “She was so beautiful,” he whispered.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He wiped his eyes, trying to make it an offhand gesture. Sunny’s fingers tightened on his arm, so he doubted he’d pulled it off.

  “Yeah. Me, too. So what did you see in the photo?” He shifted and straightened.

  Sunny let go of his arm. She leaned in, studying the people in the photo. “Can you zoom in?”

  “Sure. Here’s the zoom. Go ahead.” He stood. “I’m going to call the hospital, see if Bess has woken up.”

  Sunny sat back and looked at the entire photograph as Griff keyed in the hospital’s number. She’d noticed something as the photo had appeared and disappeared on the screen saver. But looking at it now, she couldn’t identify anything in particular that was odd or noticeable.

  It was a pleasant photo of a pleasant afternoon in the park. The replica of the Parthenon filled the background. Couples sat on the steps, arms intertwined, heads close together. People milled about, either alone or with others.

  On the other side of the room, she heard Griff asking about Bess. From his tone, it sounded as though she hadn’t regained consciousness.

  Sunny glanced at him. He met her gaze and shook his head. What if Bess never woke up? She was the only one who knew where Emily was.

  The anguish of the empty years ahead nearly crushed her soul. She had to find Emily. She would.

  She turned her attention back to the photo. There was something important in this picture. She was sure of it. She just had to find it.

  A ghost of a smile played about Sunny’s lips. It was no wonder that people’s eyes were drawn to Marianne. She was like a dark-haired angel. A ray of sunlight caught the deep red highlights in her hair, giving the impression of a bright halo. It was a beautiful picture of a beautiful little girl.

  Griff spoke. It sounded as if he was talking to the local police.

  With one ear tuned to anything he might say about Emily, she concentrated on the people whose gazes seemed to be trained on Griff’s sister. She zoomed in on each of them in turn.

  There was nothing unusual about any of them. They were just normal people. Unremarkable. She rolled the mouse wheel, studying a man whose gaze seemed to rest on Marianne. His body language suggested that he was more interested in the young woman whose hand he held than in a baby.

  Sunny moved the mouse, panning the background. A young mother holding her child looked over her shoulder toward Marianne as she walked away.

  Sunny skipped over a nondescript woman who stood alone, pushing her hair out of her eyes, and continued panning the scene. She zoomed out to look at the whole photo again.

  Her eyes went back to the woman standing alone. There was nothing familiar about her, and yet… She zoomed in until the woman’s head and shoulders filled the screen.

  Her gaze froze on the woman’s hand. All the horror of that night came back to her. The taste of leather, the empty fingers of the glove brushing her chin. Nausea twisted her gut.

  “Griff!” she choked.

  He held up a hand. “Right. Yes. If you’ll call the hospital. We’ll be there within the hour.” He disconnected. “Sunny, we need to go—”

  “Griff! Look at this.” Sunny could barely breathe. Her pulse echoed in her head like a bass drum.

  “Look at this woman.” She got up. “Don’t move the mouse,” she cautioned as he sat down in front of the laptop.

  “Look at her left hand.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is she missing two fingers?”

  Griff zoomed in until the woman’s pixilated hand filled the screen, then backed out step by step. He squinted. “It’s possible. Why?”

  Fear and hope collided inside her chest. “I didn’t say anything before. I wasn’t sure. And I was so scared.”

  “Say anything about what?”

  Sunny swallowed. “About the kidnapper’s hand.”

  Griff’s gaze snapped to hers. “His hand?”

  She nodded. “The kidnapper had on leather gloves. And when he stuffed the note into my mouth, his hand felt odd.” She took a long breath. “Like a finger of the glove, or maybe two fingers—were empty.” She held up her hand, fingers spread, then curved the last two fingers in toward her palm.

  “Empty?” Griff stared at her hand. “Why didn’t you mention this before?”

  “I wasn’t sure. And then everything happene
d—” Her breath caught on a sob. “Griff, do you think that woman could be the kidnapper?” The horrible certainty that had been growing inside her bloomed. “Do you think she took Marianne?”

  Sunny’s words stabbed him. He stared at the photo. Missing fingers.

  “Hold on.” Tension scraped his throat as he switched to his database. He scrolled downward, searching for a particular entry.

  “Here it is. There was a case, back in ’98. A ten-month-old boy disappeared from a playpen in the green area of an apartment building in Missouri. Another mother reported noticing a slightly built brown-haired woman with a missing finger in the area.”

  “I was working with Violent Crimes at that time, but I read up on the case. I think the witness worked with a sketch artist, but her description was too vague, except for the missing finger.”

  “That has to be her!” Sunny’s voice was filled with hope.

  A hope that broke his heart. He’d been where she was now. Time and time again. Certain each lead was the one that would reunite him with his sister.

  He shook his head, not meeting her gaze. “Don’t get your hopes up, Sunny. It’s a long shot. These photos are fifteen years old. I can’t tell for sure that the woman’s fingers are missing. It could just be the angle of her hand. In fifteen years, there’s only been one case with that description.”

  “Two.”

  “All right. Two. If we count your sudden memory of the empty glove.”

  She glared at him. “It wasn’t sudden. I just—” Her throat moved as she swallowed, and her eyes suddenly swam with tears. “I didn’t mention it that night because of the note.”

  Griff opened his mouth to reprimand her for holding back information, but her wide sad eyes and determined chin stopped him. She’d been trying to protect her baby in the only way she knew how.

  He sat down and pulled up his e-mail program. “I’ll send the photo to a friend of mine, a forensic photo-analyst in D.C. Maybe he can tell us something about the woman. I’ll ask him to look up the 1998 case, too, and compare them.” It only took a few seconds to attach and send the photo. He stood.