by Lyn Stone
Molly eagerly latched on to Damien’s first idea. “Jack must have switched cars with the man he hired to impersonate him in Atlanta! He broke in, took Sydney, then left her with his mama and went on to Atlanta to switch places with whoever was there in his place. Perfect alibi, right?”
She pounded her fist into her palm. “That’s it! That has to be what happened!” She shifted on the sofa, looking from Damien to Winton, silently pleading with the men to agree. “And he left her with Mildred. I know he did.” Any alternative was too unthinkable.
Winton remained silent and thoughtful, his expression carefully noncommittal.
“I’m going in tonight and see if Sydney’s at the Jensens,” Damien said quietly.
“With a warrant, we can go there today,” Winton said. “I can get one, but you can bet the Jensens will know about it the minute it’s issued. All those friends in high places, you know. If his parents are in on it, there’ll be no trace of the child when we get in there. They’ll move her. If they’re not involved, what’s the point?” He crooked a brow at Damien.
“I’ll have to wait and go tonight. Let’s not trouble the judge,” Damien said. “Today we’ll work on the regular search in case we’re wrong.”
“You going in there will amount to illegal entry,” Winton warned. Then he smiled. “You advising your buddies in the kitchen what you plan to do?” he inclined his head toward the room where the agents were drinking coffee and making plans.
“Let’s not bother them with this, either. They have enough to worry about.”
Molly stared from one to the other, finally voicing her greatest fear of the moment. “What if Syd’s not there?”
Winton hurried to reassure her. “I hope she is, but we won’t take that for granted, by any means. Today, we’ll check out all other possibilities. Don’t you worry, Ms. Jensen, we’re exploring every alternative you can imagine.”
Damien took her hand, giving her his support while all those other alternatives Winton mentioned ran through her mind.
“It’s dangerous for you to go in there, Damien,” she said. “Don’t forget, you’ll have to drug the dogs or something.”
“Not if I take enough beef jerky.”
She considered the way the Dobermans had reacted to his overtures through the gates. It would work. It had to.
“What will you do if Syd is there?” she asked him, wondering whether he could arrest the Jensens while he was the one breaking and entering their house.
He brushed his hand over her cheek, smiled and caught her braid in his hand, giving it a gentle tug. “I’ll bring her home to you, of course.”
The day dragged on. Molly jumped each time the phone rang. Reports from Clarkston only advised that whoever had taken Sydney had left no prints and no tracks. No clues at all.
Atlanta agents verified that Jack’s Mercedes contained no evidence that Sydney had ever been inside the vehicle. Also, the car itself had not been driven, or even moved from its parking space, not since Damien’s friend in Atlanta had checked on it soon after it arrived.
Jack had covered all the bases, she had to give him that much. He had also succeeded in making her suffer like the damned. Her nerves were shot and so were her mother’s. Neither of them could so much as mention Sydney’s name without lapsing into tears.
She had called her doctor and had a prescription delivered from the pharmacy. The sedative had worked for her mom, but Molly hadn’t dared take anything to sedate herself. Syd would need her fully alert.
Damien had remained in the house, offering what comfort and reassurance he could. But Molly could sense his deep concern and she realized it wasn’t all directed toward her. She clearly saw fear in his eyes where none had existed since she the day she first met him. He was afraid for Sydney and that increased her own fears tenfold.
Late that afternoon, Agent Thomas stayed, while Blancher and Mitch Winton left for the precinct. They wanted to be there in case anything turned up, she heard them tell Damien.
Molly shuddered, tried to hide from the knowledge while knowing full well what they meant. A body. A small body. Sydney’s.
Damien found her huddled in the wing chair in her bedroom where she’d tried to retreat from her terror. “Molly?” He knelt beside her, one hand on her leg and the other on her shoulder. “They’ve gone to check the computers, that’s all. Missing children turn up sometimes. That’s why they went. I didn’t want you to think—”
She couldn’t speak, but she nodded vigorously to make him think she believed it.
“I’m leaving at midnight,” he told her. “I’ll be back here before two o’clock if all goes well. Can I get you anything? Are you all right?”
“Bring her back,” she gasped, straining to hold back her tears. “Bring her to me, Damien.”
“Soon,” he promised, planting a kiss on top of her hand.
Damien equipped for the breakin as carefully as if he were entering a terrorist stronghold. The utility belt he wore over his black clothing carried cables for scaling walls, his picks for the locks, an electronic device to disable most burglar alarms. In a lightweight leather bag, he’d stowed various other gadgets that had proved useful over the years.
He was no novice at this sort of thing, but everyone had a run of bad luck occasionally. However, the worst that could happen to him was that he’d get caught red-handed and lose his badge. He could deal with it.
Should it come to that, at least he hoped Sydney would be found before he was apprehended. Winton was prepared in the event she wasn’t found. If the alarms sounded and the police came to arrest Damien, the detective would see to it that every inch of the house and grounds was searched thoroughly.
He had just stored his gear in the hatch of the Explorer when Molly appeared beside him, wearing a dark turtleneck and jeans. She clutched a pair of leather gloves in her hand. “I’m coming with you,” she declared.
Damien slammed the hatch shut and stared at her for a long moment. If he’d ever seen such determination, he couldn’t recall it. “You can’t. Even if you waited in the car, you’d be an accessory.” He used the only reason he thought she’d accept. “If you go to jail, who will look after Sydney?”
Her smile was grim. “You’re not getting caught, and neither am I. Let me go and I promise to stay outside the walls.” Her beautiful green eyes narrowed in warning. “But if you leave me here, I’ll go by myself. I’ll shoot the damned dogs and anybody else who gets in my way once I get in the gates.”
Damien knew she meant every word of it. He put his arms around her, and sure enough, she had her pistol tucked in the back of her waistband. He removed it, ignoring her struggle, and called the agent who stood at the entrance of the open garage. “Thomas, take Ms. Jensen inside and restrain her if you have to.”
The man looked dumbfounded. “What’s going on? Where’re you going?”
“None of your business, Thomas. She wants to go with me. I want her here,” Damien explained. “Keep an eye on her.”
Molly didn’t offer any further protests, but the look she shot him promised retribution.
He smiled an apology. “Trust me, darling. I’ll work better alone. Worrying about you might distract me.”
He sympathized with how she felt. Aside from her love and fear for Sydney, Molly felt terribly guilty about leaving the baby in Clarkston last night. She felt if only she’d been there, she might have prevented what happened.
Damien shared her belief, and her guilt, in spades. They never should have gone to the motel. They never should have made love. Giving in to what they felt for each other had been a mistake in more ways than he could begin to count, but they would have to sort all that out later.
“Trust me, Molly,” he said softly. “And let me do this alone.”
Without another word, she turned curtly and stalked into the house.
Damien shook his head in wonder. Molly had held up surprisingly well today considering what she was going through. He understood her need to
act. If this little adventure were not so dicey to begin with, he might have let her come along. It would probably have helped to have her with him to deal with Sydney.
But who knew what he would face once he got inside the gates? The dogs might not be quite as accepting of him as he hoped. The alarms could be beyond his ability to silence. Worse than either of those prospects, Damien hated to think of Molly’s reaction if her daughter had been harmed in any way when she was found.
The Jensens might have sedated the baby to keep her quiet. Or Jack could have gotten rough with her if he’d made her angry and she had treated him to those ear-splitting howls of hers. His capacity for violence had certainly been well documented.
Damien didn’t imagine for a moment that Jensen would waste any patience or tender feelings on little Sydney. “Smile and be good, little one,” he murmured under his breath. “And for God’s sake, stay quiet.” He would imagine her asleep. Curled up somewhere out of the way with her thumb in her mouth. Ignored and safe.
He drove at a moderate pace to the tune of Pavarotti’s La donna mobile. By the time he arrived at his destination, Damien felt calm, confident and optimistic.
He pulled into the small lane between the trees, the exact spot where he and Molly had parked to watch the Jensen estate two days ago. Instead of backing in this time to facilitate surveillance, he drove straight in, intending to exit on the other side of the large copse onto the road that ran parallel.
With the interior lights disabled, he exited the Explorer and went around back to retrieve the things he might need. The full moon was brighter than he would have liked for this. He could almost see shadows and that wasn’t good, but he’d have to make do.
The gunning of a motor barely warned him in time. Molly’s van wheeled in, lights off, and almost squashed him between its headlights and the back of the Explorer. Damn!
“Just what the hell are you doing here?” he demanded in an angry whisper when Molly climbed out. “Where the devil is Bill Thomas?”
“He’s fine,” she announced. “I locked him in the storehouse in the back of the garage.”
“How did you get him in…never mind!” He raked a hand through his hair and cursed again. “Get yourself back into that van and get out of here. Now!” he ordered, gritting his teeth over the words. “That’s an order, Molly!”
“No,” she said simply, standing her ground, arms crossed in defiance. “And you can’t make me. I plan to be right here when you come out with Sydney.”
Damien glanced at his watch. He supposed he could call Winton to come and remove her, or postpone the mission and take her home himself. But he sensed she wouldn’t go quietly.
Reluctantly, he threw up his hands and caved. “Oh, all right, you can stay, but don’t you move from this spot, you hear?”
“Scout’s honor,” she promised. Then she rushed toward him and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Damien, please, please be careful!” Her fervent kiss almost stole his breath.
Then Molly backed off and reached into her back pocket. She pulled out a small, flat, cellophane-wrapped lollipop and handed it to him. “This should pacify her until you can get her out of there.”
Damien unwrapped it and dropped it into his shirt pocket. “There. All ready for her. A bit of lint won’t matter,” he said.
“No, she won’t care.” Her voice was whispery. And so hopeful.
The moonlight made her pale, diminished her vibrancy, made her seem vulnerable as hell. It illuminated and heightened the dark circles beneath her eyes. But for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours, Damien saw Molly smile.
Thankfully the dogs cooperated. He fed them through the fence, gave a command for them to sit, and easily scaled the gate. They wriggled, almost breaking the order, eager for another taste. He gave them one and added soft praise. Their lolling-tongued smiles told him he’d succeeded in making friends. With a cautious hand, he offered them his scent and then a gentle scratch apiece. Now he only had to devise a method of getting them to leave him alone. Hard to remain unobtrusive with two Dobermans on his heels.
“Guard!” he ordered, pointing to the stone wall. They still sat, fidgeting and uttering little whines. He tried again, “Patrol!” They promptly fell into the routine and began pacing the perimeter of their property. With a heartfelt sigh of relief, Damien hurried toward the two-story house.
The windows were dark except for one light in the back, the kitchen. He ventured up to the outer sill and peeked inside. Deserted. It took him a good half hour to check all the windows.
As luck would have it, he didn’t even need his tools. Obviously the Jensens trusted the Dobermans too far. Someone had forgotten to lock the French doors that led off the dining room to the terrace. He simply opened one and walked inside. It was so easy, he wondered if it might be a trap.
A rhythmic snore alerted him as he approached the kitchen. He listened at the door of a small room just down the hall from the pantry. Quietly, he twisted the knob and opened the door just wide enough to see the entire space within.
There was a small chest of drawers, a spindly-looking dresser with a mirror, and a narrow single bed. No crib.
A huge, noisy sleeper lay curled beneath a puffy comforter. A live-in maid or cook, he supposed. One thing for certain, whoever it was had not been pressed into temporary service as a baby-sitter for Sydney. He gently closed the door and continued on his exploration.
Damien carefully checked every inch of living space, every enclosure, no matter the size, no matter how unlikely it was to hold the baby.
Finally, he approached the master suite and risked entering. If Sydney were with the Jensens, then this was where she had to be.
The plan was to take her out of here in secret. He couldn’t very well arrest the Jensens since he had no business being in their house in the first place without a warrant. Besides, it would be interesting to see how they would react to finding their granddaughter missing when they woke in the morning. Would they call the police? Did they even know that Jack had broken in to steal her? Probably did, but it would be difficult to prove.
His main concern at the moment was how he would get Sydney out of the house and off the grounds without her waking every soul in the neighborhood. Maybe the lollipop Molly had given him would work, but Damien could just envision her squealing with delight when he gave it to her.
The plush carpeting cushioned his steps. Moonlight through the windows offered enough light so that he could see. And be seen, if they happened to wake up. The thought added extra caution to his already careful search.
John Jensen sprawled in his sleep, the covers twisted about his legs, his left arm beneath the neck of his wife. Her long, dark hair covered her face as she lay on her side, curled next to him.
Damien froze when the woman moaned in her sleep and turned over, disturbing both the covers and her bedmate. Both were obviously nude. Though he felt like a voyeur seeing them that way, he dared not take his eyes off the couple. Jensen’s snoring stopped until she’d settled down, then began again.
Judging by what Molly had told him about those two, Damien hadn’t imagined theirs to be a close relationship. He had expected them to have separate rooms, separate beds, at the very least. Yet these two looked more than chummy.
Shrugging off the thought, he crept to the door opposite the one he’d entered and found himself in a dressing room. He gingerly felt his way through the darkness of it and entered an adjoining bedroom on the other side.
He fully expected to find Sydney in this one. It was the last place in the house left to search. This was definitely a woman’s room, unlike the one where he had left the couple sleeping. So they did have separate accommodations, after all, he thought. It made sense that they would put the baby in here if they’d decided to sleep together tonight.
The large bed stood empty, unrumpled and pristine. He scanned the corners, every nook and cranny as well as the adjoining bathroom.
Damien sighed and his shoulders slu
mped with the weight of his disappointment. He would almost rather be caught and prosecuted than to go back to that lane and face Molly.
There was no crib here. No cradle. No quilted pallet on the floor. And worst of all, God help him, there was no Sydney.
Chapter 13
“You didn’t find her.” Though her heart hung like a dead weight in her chest, Molly had adjusted to the fact that Damien was returning alone by the time he reached her.
She had tried so hard not to hope, but now had to admit how heavily she’d counted on his bringing Sydney out of the Jensen estate with him.
He looked almost as dejected as she felt.
“I am so sorry, Molly,” he said, enfolding her in his arms the minute he came close enough. “The Jensens and the maid or cook were there. Sydney wasn’t.”
Molly tried to absorb the warmth and the comfort of his embrace. He held her as if he would banish all her fear by sheer force of will. If only it were that simple.
“Any sign that she’s been there?” she asked.
“No.” The word, a reluctant admission that he quickly qualified. “But we will find her, Molly. I promise.”
He allowed only enough space between them so that he could see her face. “Will you be all right to drive? I don’t like the idea of leaving your van here, but we can get someone to come later and get it if you feel too shaky.”
“I’ll be okay,” she assured him. “This is only the first try to find Syd. It’s not as if I’ve given up.” Now if only she could convince herself she meant that, maybe she wouldn’t cry all the way home, Molly thought.
“What could Jack have done with her, Damien?” she asked before she could stop herself. “What?”
He hugged her again, pressing his lips to her temple before he answered. “He must have hired someone to look after her.”
Molly told herself that Jack would have had to find a person reasonably adept at caring for a child, someone he could trust to keep her well. If anything bad happened to Sydney—with or without proof that he was involved in this—Jack surely realized that neither she nor her family would rest until he paid the price. He must know her and her brother well enough to fully understand that. “Jack wouldn’t just take Syd and then…abandon her somewhere, would he?”