“No, but—”
“We can talk in the morning about alternatives,” he said quietly.
Instinct told him she’d hate knowing how much vulnerability she was betraying at that moment, as she hesitated. But finally she nodded.
More relieved than he’d have admitted, he found where she’d stashed the plastic grocery bags and began repacking what he’d bought for her...not today, yesterday. By the time he was done, she was ready, the handle of her rolling suitcase clutched in one hand, the sleeping bag efficiently rolled.
“You okay to drive?” he asked.
“Of course I am.”
Her indignation made him smile. “Okay, just follow me, then.”
She turned out the light, locked up and handed him the key. As they made their careful way in the dark to their respective vehicles, her voice came to him. “I kind of liked it here.” She sounded wistful.
“Didn’t turn out to be as peaceful as I’d hoped.”
“No.” She hopped in her car and the slam of the door brought an end to the conversation.
There wasn’t much traffic at this time of night, which made it easy to watch for anyone following them. Apparently he’d scared that last bunch enough; none of them had hung around hoping for another shot at her. Bailey stuck so close behind him during the drive he could have ticketed her for tailgating. He understood, though; whether she was happy about it or not, he was her rock right now. The Lawsons would be there for her, too—she had to know that—but she must feel a lot of confusion about them right now. He was neutral.
Yeah, he thought, unless she blamed him for the nightmare her life had turned into since she walked into the sheriff’s department that first day. Man, he hoped she didn’t hate him. But he kind of thought she wouldn’t have leaned against him so trustingly if she did.
His house was nothing special—an older rambler with the typical two-car garage that really only had room for one car along with the workbench, tools, lawn mower and sports equipment. He used the remote to open the garage door, but parked as close to one side of the driveway as he could get and jumped out to wave her in. She gestured for confirmation; he nodded, and she finally, tentatively, edged inside the garage.
He grabbed the bags of groceries, locked his SUV and walked into the garage, where she was getting her suitcase out of her trunk.
“You’re trying to hide me,” she said.
Seth raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you rather have your car out of sight?”
She made a face at him. “You know I would. I feel bad you couldn’t park in your own garage, though.”
He smiled. “If it was pouring or snowing, I might mind.”
He ushered her inside, closing the garage behind them, and set the bags down on the kitchen counter. “Spare room is over here,” he said casually, and led the way. The house was your basic three bedrooms, two bathrooms boxy. He had a guest room set up only because his mother or sister and her family visited. A double bed and simple dresser were the sole furnishings. A cot kept in the closet could be unfolded for one of the kids.
“The bathroom across the hall is all yours,” he told her. “If you want to go straight to bed, that’s fine. If not, why don’t you come along to the kitchen. I have coffee, tea, cocoa.”
She nodded, not moving, and he left. Not anywhere close to ready to go to bed himself, he’d be disappointed if she didn’t want to talk. Listening to the silence, he started putting away her groceries. He was wadding the plastic bags up again when she appeared, expression tentative. Normally a graceful woman, right now the way she held herself was awkward, shoulders rounded and arms as far from relaxed as they could be, betraying how uncertain of herself she felt. She had brushed her hair, pulling it into some kind of bundle at the back of her head, only wisps of bangs softening her face. Whatever makeup she’d started the day with was mostly gone, though, leaving dark smudges under her eyes.
“Don’t you need to get to bed?” she asked.
“I’m not on the clock. I work long hours. If I show up a little later tomorrow, no one will complain.”
“Oh.” Keeping a wary eye on him, she climbed onto one of the stools pulled up to the breakfast bar that formed the end of the countertop. “You really have cocoa?”
Seth smiled, careful to appear relaxed. “Coffee would keep me awake. Anyway, I have a sweet tooth. Want some?”
“Please.”
The teakettle whistled. He silenced it long enough to dump mix into a couple of mugs, and then poured. He handed her one mug and a spoon and kept the second, leaning back against the counter edge. He liked to think he was a smart man, which meant keeping his distance.
“I miscalculated what was going to happen after the press conference,” he said. “My fault.”
Her forehead crinkled. “What do you mean?”
“We didn’t give enough detail.”
She absorbed that. “You mean, whether he sexually molested me.”
“That’s the biggie,” he agreed. “They want the whole story. What your life was like with him. How you could have forgotten your own name. Some of the stuff you’ve told me.”
Her chin came up. Her eyes were dark and turbulent. “And if I don’t tell them what they want to know?”
“They’re going to keep after you. At least for a while.”
Bailey ducked her head and sipped cocoa. Finally, she asked, “What do you think I should do?”
He sighed. “I don’t know. Probably I should have said something tonight. Told them I’ve asked you not to say any more since this is an ongoing investigation.”
“Would they respect that?”
He shook his head and repeated, “I don’t know. The scene tonight was out of my experience.”
“If I tell them...it would be like stripping naked so they could critique my body. Them all circling me, poking at me, prying open my mouth to look at my teeth, telling me to spread my legs.” She shuddered. “You know?”
The picture she painted was a vivid one. And, God help him, he wished she’d strip naked for him. But he also understood what she was telling him. Much of the composure that seemed innate to her wasn’t. It was more like armor she donned to face the world. Stripped of that, she would be naked in a sense, exposed for everyone to see.
“We can hold out. Most of them will give up eventually. Alternatively, we can choose one journalist and you can give an exclusive. That might work best. Think about it.”
She nodded.
He hesitated. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”
She went still and her eyes widened. He almost didn’t go on. He hadn’t even asked why she’d described her evening as “full.” Was that a euphemism for shitty?
But she was waiting, and he doubted she’d let him put her off.
“Today, I started tracing Les Hamby’s footsteps. The murder you told me about didn’t get me anywhere, but I found a couple of more recent citations in Oregon.” He told her about them.
“He was going to snatch a girl from that school.” Her voice vibrated with outrage and something like fear.
“That’s my take,” he agreed. “As it was, a parent spotted him loitering between the girls’ bathroom and an exit door and confronted him. A teacher called an administrator, who called the police. He was arrested but never brought to trial. He didn’t dare grab a girl in La Grande after that.” Here came the part he was telling Bailey only because he thought she deserved to know the truth. “A five-year-old girl was abducted less than two weeks later from her home in Nampa, Idaho, not very far away. Bailey...” He hesitated. “She looked a lot like you at that age.”
“Oh, God.” Obviously stricken, she set down the mug. “So...so it wasn’t just me. He didn’t stop.”
“No.”
And then her stare became fierce. “When was that?”
He told her, and saw her making the same calculations he had. “Oh, God,” she whispered again. “How many lives has he ruined?”
Her self-a
ssessment gave him an uncomfortable jolt. “You’re triumphing over what he did to you,” he argued.
“Am I?” Her laugh broke. “I can’t make myself take a step inside my childhood bedroom. My head believes the Lawsons are my parents, but my heart—” she tapped her chest “—doesn’t. I don’t make close friends, I don’t have boyfriends. I’m getting a degree in psychology, but what am I going to do with it? Become a therapist, telling other people how to run their lives when I’m so obviously dysfunctional?”
Seth scowled at her. “Bailey, in my eyes you’ve made something remarkable of yourself, considering the terrified, damaged child you were when he left you. From the sound of it, you’ve done it all on your own. What I’m seeing is a woman who may be new to the idea of family, but has the compassion to be kind even when she’s feeling lost herself. That’s a woman who’d be one hell of a fine therapist for kids dealing with traumatic events and shattered families.”
She blinked a couple of times. “You’re mad.”
“Hell, yes, I’m mad.” Belatedly, he realized he’d flattened his hands on the countertop so he could lean in on her. He probably looked as combative as he felt. Damn, he hoped he wasn’t scaring her.
“Thank you,” she said, utterly confounding him. “What you said, that’s nice. Um... I suppose I do put myself down more than I should. Sometimes I’m proud of myself, but...”
When she hesitated, he finished. “But not as often as you should be.”
She tried to smile. “I guess.”
“What kind of grades are you getting?”
“Really good.” This smile was wider and remarkably sweet, not like the one she used as a form of self-defense, but it died too soon. “That doesn’t negate my point. I don’t know how to be...oh, a daughter, a sister, really even a friend.”
She didn’t bother listing girlfriend, he noticed. Or lover. A lurch in his chest reminded him she had good reason not to want a lover.
Blocking it out, he said, “I’ve set up an appointment for you with Special Agent Andrew Stuart of the FBI. Tomorrow afternoon at two-thirty.”
“Oh, joy,” she mumbled.
He cast his mind back. “What happened tonight? You sounded shaken.”
She cocked her head. “You mean, before people started peering in my window, spotlighting me with their flashlights?”
“Yeah.” He permitted himself a small grin. “Before that.”
Bailey made a face, then took a swallow of her cocoa. “Eve and I, well, sort of went at it.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“You don’t need to hear about that. I mean, considering.”
“Considering?” His temper rose to a simmer again. Presumably she was talking about his nonexistent relationship with Eve.
“You know what I mean. The thing is, Karen heard some stuff we said, and that upset her.” Emotions crossed Bailey’s face too quickly to all be identified. “We apologized—she insisted she understood, but of course I felt guilty, so after dinner instead of leaving while it was still light, I agreed to sit down and look at photo albums.”
“Ah.”
She traced the rim of her mug, her head bent. “It was...so bizarre.” Her voice was very soft. If he’d stood much farther away, he wouldn’t have been able to hear her. “Seeing myself. Pretty, and happy. Chubby cheeked.” Her shoulders hunched. “Karen was so delighted, and I kept thinking, that looks like me but how can it be when I don’t remember?” She looked up, so much hurt and perplexity in her eyes, Seth felt it like a blow.
He was a cop; he dealt every day with people who had just been injured or victimized, who were enraged, scared, sobbing, and he didn’t let himself feel what they felt. He couldn’t afford to. But he couldn’t seem to shut out this woman’s emotions. Although his chest felt bruised, he was shaken by the realization that he didn’t want to shut her out. For her, he’d bear almost anything.
Partly because much of what she felt was on him. Instead of appearing on scene after the fact, as was usual, he was the one who’d torn open the life she’d created, exposed her to the public eye, brought her home to face a forgotten past.
But that wasn’t the only reason why, and he knew it.
“Despite the grief she’s lived with, Karen is an optimist.” He managed to sound calmer than he felt. “She can’t let herself believe that you might never remember anything.”
Bailey nodded. “It would be like losing me all over again. I’m not sure knowing I’m alive is enough for her. You know? She needs me to be Hope.”
He wouldn’t have been able to keep his hands off her if not for the width of the counter separating them. Lucky thing. She’d accepted his comfort earlier, but he had a feeling that didn’t come naturally. No wonder.
“Maybe you’re both expecting too much, too soon,” he said gently.
“She is. Me...” Her mouth twisted. “I don’t have any expectations. When I came—” She shrugged. “I think I’d have been relieved if you’d said, sorry, you do look like Hope Lawson, but you can’t possibly be her.”
Watching her closely, he suggested, “And disappointed, too.”
One shoulder jerked. “Maybe.”
She wanted to be tough enough to shake off anything life threw at her, he diagnosed, but this homecoming had battered her defenses.
Before he could say anything, she continued. “Then we looked at Eve’s photo albums.” She raised her gaze to his. “The early pictures? I identified with them more than I did the ones of me. I knew that girl.”
“Damn, Bailey.”
“But then... I could see what their care did for her. She became beautiful and confident, because she felt loved. It was like—” She stopped, obviously unwilling to finish.
“She took up where that little girl Hope left off.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “It was like...a seesaw. I said that before, didn’t I? But it’s true. When I was up, she was down. I went down, she soared.”
“Except I heard Eve. She called you the real daughter.”
Creases formed on Bailey’s smooth forehead. “Yes. She said...more than that this evening. You know. When we, um...”
“Went at it.”
“Right.”
Seth frowned. “Bailey, what you saw in the photo album—in both photo albums—was partly truth, partly facade. The pictures of you don’t tell the whole story of your life before you were abducted. They represent the high points. I’m pretty sure you threw temper tantrums, were sometimes mad at your mommy or daddy, might have been a spoiled brat on occasion.”
She watched him, unblinking.
“And Eve. You’re right. The Lawsons helped her become a beautiful woman who is confident on the outside. But inside, you’d find the scared girl who didn’t think anybody would ever want her.”
“You’re right.” Her grimace turned into rolled eyes. “Just don’t make me say that too often.”
Protecting herself again. But he let her get away with it. He just smiled. “I’m frequently right, you know. I’d go so far as to say—”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare.”
“Hey, when it’s the truth...” He spread his hands.
She laughed and shook her head, then gazed into her mug as if reading tea leaves at the bottom. When she looked up, the vulnerability that got to him was very apparent. “Here you came to my rescue again, and what do I do but dump on you. Speaking of therapists.”
“Bailey.” His voice came out rough. Whatever his face showed had her eyes widening. “I prodded you into talking. I want to hear anything you have to say. I deal with a lot of people on the job. I don’t bring them home to stay with me.”
Whoa, he thought. Maybe that was more than he should have said. She looked stunned. Possibly alarmed.
“That’s...nice of you to say.” She sounded cautious. “But I think I’ve unloaded enough for one night. You don’t mind if I go to bed?”
“You don’t need permission.” He made an effort to keep it light. Too
little, too late, he feared. “If you get up before me in the morning, help yourself to any food you find.”
“Okay.” She smiled tentatively. “Good night, Seth.”
He lifted his mug to her and stayed right where he was. “Sleep tight.”
Her mouth was curving as she turned away, making his heart feel light in his chest.
Left alone, he didn’t move for a long time.
* * *
HAVING BREAKFAST WITH a man was beyond weird. Bailey guessed there must have been times in foster homes when it was just her and the foster dad eating at the same time. She didn’t remember. Otherwise—she hadn’t so much as had a female roommate in aeons. When she went out on her own, she’d had to share a place, like it or not. Minimum wage didn’t go very far. Her first apartment, there’d been three of them crammed into a one-bedroom. She’d hated it. She’d had years of sharing bedrooms in foster homes. She’d have given anything for her very own room. As soon as she could manage, she lived alone. Which usually meant crummy neighborhoods and microsize studio apartments, but having her own space was really important to her.
Sharing the newspaper with Seth, him grunting his thanks when she handed him a bagel that had just popped up in the toaster, her murmuring her thanks when he poured her a second cup of coffee, felt both surreal and oddly comfortable. It helped that he apparently wasn’t a morning person any more than she was. He looked heavy-eyed and didn’t seem interested in talking. Or encouraging her to talk.
Maybe he’d had his fill last night.
But Bailey knew better.
I want to hear anything you have to say.
She would swear he’d meant it. She didn’t understand why, but believed unwillingly in his sincerity. Probably he thought of her as part of his job, which she was, in a way.
Not “in a way”—who was she kidding? He’d been all cop when he arrived tonight, not to mention when he came to her rescue at the pharmacy. Once he’d delivered her to the Lawsons and presented her to the world, she should have quit being his job, but, oh, oops, turned out she still needed help and he felt obligated. And then there was his hunt for her abductor.
Yesterday's Gone (Two Daughters Book 1) Page 12