Lullabies and Lies

by Mallory Kane

  A nurse was watching the monitors.

  “How’s she doing?” Sparks asked the detective.

  “She’s pretty doped up. She just barely managed to tell me her name.”

  “Wait outside, would you? Help the officer canvass the employees and visitors.”

  “Yes, sir. No problem.” She left.

  “Ms. Raymond?” Griff said softly.

  Her thick, gnarled fingers twitched and she opened her eyes. She licked her lips. The nurse held a cup so she could sip a little water through a straw.

  Griff took the cup and held it. “Ms. Raymond, can you talk?”

  “Who are you?” she croaked. “Another…cop?”

  “I’m an FBI Special Agent. I’m looking for Emily Rose Loveless.”

  “Emily Rose,” Ms. Raymond mumbled. “Get her back to…her mother. Missing her.”

  Griff’s eyes prickled. “That’s right. Her mother misses her a lot. Do you know where Emily is?”

  The woman’s weak blue eyes cleared, and she looked straight at Griff. “Can’t let Janie find her.”

  Griff glanced at Sparks. “Jane Gross.”

  Sparks nodded. Reaching into his pocket for his cell phone, he stepped out of the room. “That should be enough to get them picked up for questioning.”

  “Tell me, Ms. Raymond. Tell me about Janie.”

  The nurse took the cup of water from Griff and set it on the tray table, then left.

  “Ms. Raymond?”

  Bess Raymond’s eyes were closed again. “Tired,” she said.

  “I know. You’ve been shot. Do you know who shot you?”

  Her fingers picked at the blanket that covered her. “Tired of helping her hide those poor babies…”

  Griff’s pulse pounded. “Did you say babies? Have there been others?”

  Long-buried hope clawed its way up from deep within him. He resisted its pull. He’d given up hope of ever finding his sister. “Ms. Raymond. I need to know where Emily is.”

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  The tinny voice coming through the intercom unit on the bed rail startled Griff.

  “Yes? Griffin Stone here.”

  “Sir, there’s a call for Ms. Raymond. Do you want to take it?”

  “Yes!” Griff stood, just as the phone on the bedside table rang softly. He lifted the receiver.

  “Bess Raymond’s room.”

  For a few seconds, there was nothing but the sound of soft rapid breathing.

  “Hello?” He spoke softly. Was it Sunny? He didn’t dare ask. He didn’t want to frighten whoever it was into hanging up.

  “Who is this?” a young female voice asked.

  It wasn’t Sunny. Griff’s chest tightened. He shook his head. He had to stop obsessing over her safety. The police were looking for her. His job was here. He had to find Emily.

  He concentrated on the barely suppressed panic in the girl’s voice and chose his words carefully. “I’m helping Ms. Raymond. Who’s this?” He held his breath.

  “Is—is she all right?”

  “She’s resting comfortably.” He took a risk. “Is this her daughter? She’s been asking about you.” It wasn’t too much of a lie.

  He heard a relieved sigh. “Can I talk to her?”

  He glanced at Bess, whose eyes were closed. “She’s asleep right now. Is this Mia?” he asked, remembering Natasha’s information about Mrs. Raymond’s daughter.

  A pause. “Yes.” Her voice was strangled with tears.

  Griff debated whether to tell Bess’s daughter who he really was. Would it reassure her or frighten her away?

  “Is there anything you want me to tell your mother?” he asked.

  Bess’s fingers began twitching. She picked frantically at the blanket.

  Griff heard something through the phone line. Not Mia’s voice. It was something in the background. Was it a cry? A baby’s cry?

  Adrenaline surged through him, sucking the breath out of him with a thrill of anticipation.

  “No. I should go.” Her voice sounded panicked. “I just wanted to be sure—”

  Another cry. It was a baby. Dear God, let it be Emily.

  “Mia? Listen to me.” Griff tried to control his voice. He didn’t want to let on to the girl that he’d heard the baby’s cry.

  “I really—”

  “Mia. My name is Griffin Stone. Your mother is helping us try to find a missing baby.”

  Mia made a distressed sound. “H-helping who?”

  “Mia. I want you to listen closely. I’m an FBI Agent. I’m protecting your mother.”

  He heard her gasp.

  “Mia, don’t hang up. Mia?”

  The phone went dead.

  “Damn it!” He gripped the receiver in his fist, wanting to smash something with it. But with a huge effort, he relaxed his fingers and hung it up. He reached for the glass door.

  “Nurse, get Captain Sparks. I need that call traced.”

  The nurse looked up.

  “Now!” he snapped.

  He glanced back at the bed. He wanted to be out there, looking for Sunny, or tracing Mia’s call. But he needed information that only Bess had.

  Breathing deeply to calm his racing heart, he pulled a chair up close to the bed.

  “Bess, are you awake?”

  Her fingers twitched. “Mia?”

  “Yes, that was Mia. She called to check on you.”

  Bess’s eyes opened. “You’re FBI?”

  Griff forced a smile. “So you were listening?”

  “Not dead yet.”

  “Bess, I need to find your daughter. She has Sunny’s baby, doesn’t she?”

  Bess closed her eyes and nodded. “Never should have—”

  “It’s okay. Trust me. I know you were protecting the baby. I know you called Sunny.”

  “I couldn’t refuse to take—the baby. Janie hates babies.” She licked her lips. “Babies need love.”

  “Yes, they do.” He patted her wrinkled hand.

  “The rattle?”

  “We found Emily’s rattle.”

  “Kept it to prove—”

  He nodded. “To prove you were telling the truth about Emily.”

  She nodded weakly. Then, with a sudden surge of strength, Bess grasped his wrist. “Mia! You’ve got to stop her.”

  He leaned closer. “Stop her?”

  “I told her if anything happened to me…”

  Griff waited, his heart pounding.

  “Told her to get the book.”

  “The book?”

  Bess closed her eyes and sighed.

  “Bess. What book?”

  “Book of children. At my house. Janie wants that book.”

  “And Mia knows where it is?”

  Bess swallowed. “Mia knows everything.”

  “Bess.” He squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry. Tell me how to reach Mia. We’ll protect her.”

  “And the baby,” Bess whispered.

  He felt the sting of tears. Clenching his jaw, he nodded. “And the baby.”

  135 hours missing

  SUNNY COULDN’T TEAR her eyes from the obscene black stain of blood on the oak coffee table. It was Bess Raymond’s blood. She couldn’t help but wonder if any of it was Emily’s.

  Jane prodded her with the gun. “Go on. I don’t have all day.”

  She swallowed. “You shot her. Why?”

  Jane laughed. “Because she didn’t listen to me. After all these years, old Bess finally decided she could think for herself. Surprised the hell out of me. I didn’t think she had it in her.”

  Sunny watched Jane in fascination. How could she have thought she was nondescript? Her brown eyes glittered with evil lights. Her face was sharp and sallow, the skin drawn across her bones as tightly as a latex glove. She moved quickly, jerkily, like a bird.

  At first, Sunny had thought she was mad. But she wasn’t. She was brilliant and deadly. And she had Emily.

  “Where’s my baby?”

  “Get to work. I need that book
.”

  Jane’s cold voice sent chills through Sunny. “I don’t know anything about a book.”

  Jane bared her teeth in a sneer. “Then you’d better get started.” She looked at her watch. “I have to leave by six o’clock. Ed is appearing at a town meeting. If you haven’t found the book by then, well…” She shrugged.

  “What about Emily?”

  “That’s up to you. Find the book in time, and you might get to see your kid.”

  …before you die. Sunny filled in the unspoken words. They didn’t have the power to frighten her anymore. She knew Jane was going to kill her.

  “Swear to me that Emily is safe.”

  “Oh please.” Jane rolled her eyes. “Your kid is fine. I’m not a monster.”

  Yes you are.

  Monsters came in all shapes and sizes. All Sunny could do was pray that Jane was telling the truth about Emily. Hope was all she had. She’d cling to it as long as she could.

  “What kind of book is it?”

  “It has names. Dates,” Jane said. “Like a diary.”

  “Where do you want me to start?”

  Jane pushed her hair back in the same gesture that Griff had caught on film. “Hell if I know. Just find it.”

  Sunny surveyed the large living room. The police and the EMTs had made a mess. Furniture was pushed aside. Fingerprint dust coated everything. From TV, Sunny knew the paper curls were the backing of fingerprint tape.

  Half of the room was set up as a children’s play area. A big walnut desk nearby held a portable TV and a computer.

  “Maybe the desk?”

  Jane coughed and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Fine by me.” She manipulated a lighter with her deformed left hand and took a long drag.

  The smell of cigarette smoke drifted toward Sunny as she sat down in the wooden desk chair and pulled out the center drawer. The wheels on the chair squeaked as she moved.

  Jane paced in front of the windows, smoking and clicking the safety of the gun on and off, on and off, on and off.

  THE CLICK OF THE GUN’S SAFETY echoed in Sunny’s head like the ticking of a clock as she searched frantically. She’d been bent over the huge desk for what felt like hours, as Jane smoked and coughed and paced. The cavernous drawers were filled with a lifetime of receipts, letters, tax records. It appeared that Bess had kept everything in the desk. Sunny had long since decided that whatever “the book” was, it wasn’t in the desk. But she was afraid to stop looking.

  “You don’t have much time,” Jane said.

  But Sunny barely heard her. Her attention was on something she’d just glimpsed in the bottom of the far right drawer, behind a row of files. She bent over and reached into the depths of the drawer. Her fingers touched fine-grained leather.

  Her pulse drummed in her temple. It was a pocketsize journal. Was this the book?

  She dug out a handful of files and sat them on top of the desk, alongside a mountain of papers.

  She wanted to grab the journal, shove it in Jane’s face and demand to see Emily.

  But Jane was a liar. As soon as she had the book, she’d kill Sunny.

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  Sunny composed her face before she looked over her shoulder. “Yes. This is the last drawer.”

  Jane dropped a cigarette and crushed it on the hardwood floor. “That’s it. You’re useless. Get up.”

  “But I’m almost done. It could be in here. Give me a few more minutes, please.”

  Jane lifted the gun. “I said—” She stopped and cocked her head. She’d heard something.

  Sunny tensed, trying to hear what Jane had heard.

  Was it Griff? A fierce, burning hope blossomed in her chest. She hadn’t dared to believe he’d find her in time. It was hard enough sustaining the faint hope that she would see Emily again.

  She’d told herself it was enough that he’d been there for her when she’d needed his strength. That he’d allowed her to use him for safety and shelter. For love.

  Before she had time to explore her thought, she heard the rattle of keys. Someone was unlocking the back door.

  Jane crossed the living room in two strides and flattened herself against the wall between the living room and dining room, her attention focused on the footsteps coming toward them.

  Sunny bent slightly, holding her breath and praying that the chair wouldn’t creak. She managed to grasp the leather journal with two fingers. She lifted it slowly, never taking her eyes off Jane. When she shifted to slide it into the pocket of her slacks, the wheels squawked loudly.

  Jane turned the gun on her for an instant, a hard glint in her eyes.

  The message was clear. Stay put or you’re dead.

  Sunny swallowed, then nodded.

  GRIFF AND SPARKS, along with several backup black-and-whites, headed toward Bess’s house.

  Sparks had just hung up from talking to the New Rochelle police, and Griff was on the phone to Natasha, who had been in touch with the photo-analyst.

  “Hart said he couldn’t positively identify Jane Gross from your photograph,” Natasha said. “But he did say he could state under oath that the facial characteristics, build and other identifying features were consistent with hers. He also said the woman in your photo does have a deformity of her left hand.”

  “Can you verify that Jane Gross has a similar problem?”

  “Already done. We have eyewitness testimony from people who know her. And her fingerprints are on file, because of her husband’s campaign.”

  “What about the husband?”

  “He’s cooperating with the New Rochelle police. He is adamant that his wife is visiting her mother in Springfield.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Mrs. Roe is in a nursing home, paid for by her daughter. The daughter hasn’t visited her in over two years. Jane’s been lying to hubby.”

  “What about Bess Raymond? And her daughter?”

  “Right. Adopted. I found the records. The papers were drawn up by a Hiram Cogburn, and executed by a lawyer in Philadelphia. Mia Raymond was supposedly a foundling. Her birth certificate was created after the fact.”

  “We’re almost there,” Sparks said.

  “Okay, Natasha. Thanks.”

  “Griff, Ed Gross said there’s a town meeting tonight. Jane promised him she’d be there.”

  “What time?”

  “Seven o’clock. He said she’s never missed a political event. She’s always by his side.”

  “Thanks.” Griff disconnected. “We’ve got a problem,” he told Sparks. “Jane is due back in New Rochelle by seven o’clock.”

  “That’s a good hour and a half drive.”

  Griff looked at his watch and cursed. “It’s five now.”

  Sunny. God he hoped he wasn’t too late. According to Bess, the book she asked Mia to retrieve was a journal. It contained evidence of all the children Jane had stolen and brought to Bess to care for over the years.

  He was gambling everything that Jane had kidnapped Sunny, and had brought her to Bess’s house to find the book. If he was wrong, he’d just condemned her and her daughter to death.

  “Don’t approach the place directly. Park on the next street where the cigarette butts were found, and walk through the common area. If anyone is at the house I don’t want to alert them.”

  Sparks nodded, reaching for his radio mic. He directed the backup officers to turn on Edgar Street, parallel to Bergen, and park out of sight of Bess Raymond’s house.

  Griff pulled out his gun and checked it, working to keep his emotions under control. He couldn’t stop picturing Sunny, her eyes wide and trusting.

  Please let me keep my promise this time, he prayed.

  As soon as Sparks stopped the car, Griff was out.

  Sparks stopped him in front of the car. “Wait for backup,” he said.

  Griff shook his head. “There’s no time.”

  “Son, I’m ordering you—”

  Griff leveled his gaze at the police captain. “Sorr
y, sir, you don’t have the authority.”

  Sparks frowned, but said nothing more.

  Griff picked his way through the trees and undergrowth until he could see Bess’s house.

  Was Sunny in there? Was she still alive?

  SUNNY WATCHED the darkened archway that connected the living room with the dining room in horrified fascination. The light, cautious footsteps came closer and closer.

  Jane had flattened her back against the shadows by the door. She shifted and a glimmer of late-afternoon sunlight flashed off the barrel of her gun.

  Sunny held her breath. She wanted to cry out—to warn whoever was about to walk into Jane’s trap.

  Jane glanced at her then back at the door. To Sunny’s surprise, she slipped the gun into the big patch pocket of her volunteer jacket.

  A muffled sound reached Sunny’s ears. It was a baby’s cry. It was Emily!

  All the blood drained from her head and she felt faint. Her throat clogged with tears, her heart swelled with relief and joy even as fear stole her breath.

  Was this what Jane had meant when she’d tantalized Sunny with the possibility of seeing Emily again? Was this part of Jane’s plan?

  At that instant a teenage girl holding an infant carrier stepped through the doorway, her eyes wide with terror.

  “Hello, Mia,” Jane said.

  The girl started and whirled. Her knuckles went white as bones where she gripped the carrier’s handles.

  “Emily,” Sunny croaked, trying to see the baby in the carrier.

  The girl’s head jerked toward her, then back to Jane. “Aunt Janie? What’s going on?”

  “It’s all right, Mia.”

  “My mother’s in the hospital. Someone shot her. She told me—”

  Mia wasn’t in on it. Relief flowed through Sunny. She had to see Emily. She rose and started toward her.

  “Stop!” Jane’s hand went to her pocket. “Don’t move another inch.”

  “Who—” Mia started.

  “I’m Emily’s mother.”

  “Watch it, Loveless.” Jane’s eyes never left Sunny as she spoke to Mia. “Mia, honey, set the baby down.”

  “What are you doing, Aunt Janie?” Mia didn’t move.

  Sunny couldn’t tear her eyes away from the carrier. She could see Emily’s little arms waving, hear her familiar whimper.