CA 50.7 Little Girl Lost

by Debra Webb

  It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out she had botched that part of the interview.

  Jenna balled her hands into fists. If she didn't get the job, what would she do?

  "Damn it!" Her whole body shook and she braced herself against the nearest counter. She had to get the job.

  That little girl was her Sophie. Jenna could feel it deep inside, in the place only mothers knew.. .the place where she'd once carried her precious baby.

  That was her child in that prestigious, one-of-a-kind prison.

  Her knees buckled and she fell into a crouch, hugging her arms around her legs, and let the dam burst. Tears flowed down her cheeks as the emotions she had restrained for weeks now caught up to her.

  Seven years her baby had been gone. Seven years. No one had been able to find her. There hadn't been a single lead. Not one. Until now. Jenna wasn't so far gone that she didn't realize her lead was somewhat sketchy and far too much of a coincidence to be acceptable. This whole set-up smelled to high heaven.

  But it was all she'd had, so she'd taken it. Desperation did strange things to a person.

  It would be so much easier if she could just call the cops. But after last summer's fiasco, that would be a major wrong move. There was no one she could call on for help.

  Jenna braced her forehead on her knees and tried to slow the tears and the shaking. Admittedly, she couldn't be sure about anything. Her baby had been missing for seven long years. A lot changed between the ages of three and ten. The hair color and eye color were right; as were the curve of the cheek, the nose, the complexion.

  But Jenna could be wrong. She'd been wrong before. Her body shook harder as memories filled her head with painful images and devastating words. The last time she'd thought she found her daughter she had taken a risk that had almost gotten her killed.

  And she hadn't cared. The only thing that had mattered was the idea that she'd failed.

  In light of that harsh reality, on some level Jenna had wanted to die.

  A pounding on the door jerked her from the expanding agony. What if it were someone from the institute? She swiped her eyes and nose as she pushed to her feet. No one else knew she was here. She stared at the door. If Dr. Hancock wanted to talk to her he would call. A man like him wouldn't be caught dead in a neighborhood like this. Her mother sure as hell didn't know where Jenna was. It was probably some vagrant wanting to borrow a couple dollars or a smoke. It wouldn't be the first time someone had approached her to bum cash to get a cheap bottle of wine, though it usually happened on the street.

  Or maybe someone at the Wallace Institute had figured her out and sent security to detain and interrogate her.

  Her need for nicotine forgotten, Jenna tossed the cigarette on the counter and turned off the burner on the stove. She walked toward the door, anxiety building like gathering storm clouds. Another round of pounding startled her. There was no peephole to check and the window was too far to one side to get a look at anyone standing directly in front of the door. Besides, the glass was so old and layered with grime that seeing anything more than a nonspecific form would be impossible.

  The date elbowed its way into her brain. Crap. Her rent was due two days ago. The landlord was likely here to collect. Perfect. She had totally forgotten. He was already suspicious of her. God only knew why, considering everyone on the block looked like an escapee from rehab or prison.

  She scrubbed at her eyes again, and after shoving her hair behind her ears, she opened the door.

  Six feet of frustrated and worried male glared down at her.

  Paul Thompson.

  Her soon-to-be ex-husband.

  Before she could stop it, need, familiar and fierce, roared through her veins. But he was the enemy.

  "What do you want?" Jenna crossed her arms over her chest and tried to look strong and furious. She could not allow him to see how fragile she was. Or her surprise at him showing up here. She'd made it pretty clear last year that she never wanted to see him again and, after a while, he'd abided by her wishes.

  Until now.

  The better question was how did he find her? No one knew she was here. Not even her mother. Least of all her mother.

  "We should talk about this in private," he suggested.

  The sound of his voice made her shiver. She wanted to beat her head against the wall. How could he still have that effect on her? Remembered betrayal stung through her. Beyond him, a couple of her neighbors sat in their car, windows down, music thumping. On the other side of her duplex an old man swayed back and forth in an ancient-looking rocking chair.

  "Say what you have to say and go." Jenna lifted her chin and dared him to argue. He had no right to tell her what to do anymore. Had no rights to her at all since he'd signed those divorce papers.

  Funny, some part of her had felt even more betrayed that he hadn't fought the issue, even though she'd been the one to file for divorce. After what he'd done, why wouldn't she? Shaking off the past, she intensified her defiant glare. "What the hell do you want?"

  He barged across the threshold, forcing her to step back. As he kicked the door shut behind him he planted his hands on his hips and did some fierce glaring himself. "I at least expected you to be civil if not reasonable."

  "How did you find me?" She bit back the slew of curses she wanted to hurl at him. They'd done enough of that already. "Better yet, why did you find me?"

  "Your mother called. She said you had found her again."

  Fury blasted away any thread of composure Jenna had been clinging to. "First, my mother has no idea where I am, so that makes you a liar. Second, if you've got someone following me again, that's called stalking. What I do is none of your business."

  He fished his cell phone from the front right pocket of his jeans. A few taps with his thumb and his call list was on the screen. "Six-thirty this morning. That's your mom's number, is it not?"

  How could her mother have known? Jenna had told no one. She had packed a bag and driven away, leaving L.A. in her rearview mirror. Her utilities had been paid. She never stayed at any job for long anymore, so that shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone. Why would her mother care where she'd gone? The last exchange they'd had had been even uglier than Jenna's last exchange with this man. Anger tightened her lips. Her soon-to-be-ex.

  "I decided it was time for a change of scenery." She bit her lips together and looked anywhere but at his face.

  She and Paul had been married for twelve years. He knew her better than she knew herself. He could spot a lie in a heartbeat. There was little she could do about him being here, but the last thing she wanted was to spur his suspicions.

  He glanced around the shabby living area. "And you just happened to pick here? From the looks of the neighborhood, you've decided to live on the edge."

  Her SUV might not be rusty or beat-up but it was old enough to fit in with the junky rides dotting the street on this block. If he was still driving that fancy sports car, his definitely did not. The only people who drove high-end vehicles in this neighborhood were the pimps and the dealers. Her neighbors likely thought her visitor was one or both.

  "As we've already established, how I live is none of your business." However, her mother had found out where Jenna was, and if she had any inkling as to what Jenna was doing and told Paul...there would be trouble. He had sworn that if she repeated last year's fiasco he and her mother would take drastic measures. Fourteen days in a private sanitarium apparently wasn't drastic enough.

  Jenna hugged herself a little tighter. She was not crazy. Her daughter was alive and here in Huntsville, Alabama. This time Jenna was sure. All she had to do was get her hands on proof. A single hair for DNA testing would provide the official results, but that would take time. Prints wouldn't work because they had none for comparison.

  Who takes their three-year-old's prints? Most parents didn't end up doing that until their child started preschool. But if Jenna could get close enough.. .she wouldn't need any DNA test. Sophie took a fall when
she was two. It would've been harmless, but the drinking glass left on the patio had broken her fall. She had a scar on her upper thigh from more than half a dozen stitches. Jenna had berated herself a thousand times over about that accident. She had stared at the scar a million times. Seven years had likely changed the color and size to some degree, but there would be a scar.

  "Jenna." Paul touched her arm. She trembled, unable to suppress the reaction. Those blue eyes of his—the same ones she had looked into this afternoon in that damned institute—searched hers. "Please let me help you."

  Fury obliterated any softer emotions that had crept in beneath her defenses. "Go back to Chicago, Paul. Back to that hotshot Colby Agency where you work and pretend that it doesn't bother you that you and all their resources couldn't find our daughter." The ache exploded inside her. How could he come here and pretend to know what was best?

  He had given up!

  Paul reached for her again, and she backed away.

  "Six years," he said quietly. "We searched and searched. I did everything I knew to do. The FBI, the LAPD, my connections at Homeland Security, private investigators—no one was able to find her then or now. Not a single trace. She's gone, Jen. Last year you almost lost your life to the denial. At some point we have to move on. It's past time."

  That was his answer. Give up and move on. "I'm just supposed to forget about my baby?" She shook her head. "Impossible. I won't ever stop looking."

  The urge to tell him what she believed burgeoned in her throat. But she couldn't. If she was wrong—again—he and her mother might really do something extreme. They had threatened to after what had happened last year. Of course, her mother would need to be sober to do anything.

  Jenna might be living in denial, but that was better than drowning herself with booze like her mother or burying herself in work like Paul. The fact was, none of them had a life anymore. Frankly, Jenna didn't want one if it meant her daughter was lost to her forever.

  "This is killing you," he murmured in the voice that made her want to believe he still cared.

  But that was impossible. They hadn't been intimate in years. How could she even think about personal pleasure with her baby out there somewhere. lost? For the first three years after their baby had gone missing they had been completely wrapped up in the search. United in their determination. By the time five years had elapsed Paul had admitted defeat. Year six had been an endless nightmare of battles and frustrations.

  Last year he had taken that job in Chicago and left her to stare at the four walls of what had been their home outside L.A.

  "Our divorce is only days from being final," she reminded him. "Go back to solving other people's problems and leave me alone."

  "Whatever you're doing here," he insisted, concern cluttering his face, "I'm really worried about you, Jen. You need help."

  Another blast of outrage slammed her. "You're right. I do need help. The problem is I can't count on you to give it to me or our little girl." She'd show him. She would find their baby.

  Maybe she already had.

  Not maybe. Jenna was as certain as any mother who hadn't seen her child in seven years could be.

  Paul was the one backing away this time. He dropped his arms to his sides and shook his head. She'd gotten him where it hurt, and she struggled to ignore a twinge of guilt at the agony on his face.

  "Now, if you don't leave—" she tugged the cell phone from the pocket of her trousers "—I'm calling the police. They know this neighborhood well, so they can be here lickety-split."

  Silently she counted to three, praying with each passing second that he would go away and leave her be.

  "Tell me what you're doing here and I'll go," he offered, his own anger coloring his tone.

  Her cell vibrated and she jumped. She glanced at the screen. Private Number. Now what? She hit Accept Call. "Hello." She took a breath; ordered herself to be calm.

  Paul's gaze warned of his mounting frustration and impatience, but he didn't try to snatch the phone away. He'd been known to do that when she refused to listen to him.

  "Miss Thomas, this is Dr. Hancock."

  Jenna stilled, closing out all emotion save one: surprise. "Yes. Hello, Dr. Hancock."

  Paul continued to glare at her and she ignored him. Something had happened. What if her visit had prompted a bad reaction and Dr. Hancock had called to tell her that not only did she not have the job but if she came anywhere near the institute again he would call the authorities.

  "I don't know how to say this," Hancock began.

  Dread and fear congealed into one pulsing mass inside her.

  "But," he went on, "Diamond is asking for you."

  Jenna couldn't have heard him right. Her knees threatened to buckle again. "What did you say?"

  "Under the circumstances, the position is yours —at least on a probationary basis."

  "I don't understand." Her emotions were doing that wild spinning again.

  "Miss Thomas, let me make myself clear. This child has not spoken to anyone but the other children in all her time here. Never. Not once. She is asking for you. Apparently she connected with you on some level. If that holds true, I believe you'll fit in quite well here at the Wallace Institute."

  Stunned, Jenna grappled for her voice. "Thank you, sir."

  She was scarcely aware of his instructions for reporting for duty the next day and then ending the call. She closed her phone and stared at it, unable to fully absorb the ramifications of what had happened.

  "That was Dr. Hancock." She shifted her attention to the man still standing there, waiting, arms crossed in determination, feet wide apart as if ready for battle.

  Paul looked confused, maybe even startled. "Who?"

  Jenna shook her head, hardly believing what she was about to tell him. "The administrator from the Wallace Institute. I've got the job."

  The frustration was back. The tic in his jaw indicated that he was approaching his wit's end. "Why are you here, Jen? Why do you want this job?"

  She might as well tell him. He wouldn't shut up or go away until he knew. If he screwed this up she was never going to forgive him. They hadn't spoken in almost a year as it was.

  "I'm here because our daughter is here. At the Wallace Institute. I saw her today." Before he could launch a rebuttal, she added, "It's her, Paul. I know it's her." The doubts that common sense prompted gnawed at her but she disregarded the warnings.

  It was Sophie, and Jenna intended to prove it.

  Chapter Three

  Paul fought the urge to grab Jenna and shake her. She kept doing this to herself and nothing he had said or done so far had made a difference.

  One year ago when she'd gone off on her last one-woman hunt for Sophie, she'd almost gotten herself killed. She'd decided Sophie had been taken by a human-trafficking ring in L.A. that she'd read about in the Times. Jenna had set out to make herself bait—and she'd succeeded. Luckily Paul and two of his Homeland Security colleagues had located her before it was too late, but forty-eight hours as a hostage had taken its toll. She'd been in no condition to argue with his assessment that she needed a break in a place where she'd have support and help. Fourteen days later she'd come out of the clinic and gone straight to a lawyer to begin divorce proceedings.

  Maybe he'd been wrong to take such a drastic measure, but he'd been desperate to help her. His own counselor had advised him to get on with his life and that perhaps his example would help Jenna more than anything else. So he had. He'd resigned from Homeland Security and joined the Colby Agency in Chicago.

  Evidently his example hadn't helped. Not that he'd given up on learning the truth about Sophie's disappearance himself. Ian Michaels and Jim Colby had used their every resource to help with his search. To no avail, unfortunately.

  Sophie had vanished without a trace. Paul had reconciled to the idea that she was likely dead. It was the only way to go on. His baby was lost.

  But Jenna was here, right in front of him, and he couldn't let her keep doing t
his. He didn't want to have to take the next step, and his chest tightened with the thought. As much as the concept tied his gut into knots, he was prepared to do whatever was necessary to save her from herself. She couldn't keep living like this. Chasing a dream that always turned into a nightmare.

  "May I sit down?" He needed her calm and he had to stay that way himself. She'd gone on the defensive as soon as she opened the door and found him standing there.

  Despite his differences with Deidra, Jenna's mother, he was grateful she had notified him there was a problem. Since Jenna refused his calls and he'd just returned from working back-to-back cases for the Colby Agency, he'd had no idea there was trouble until her mother called. The fact that Deidra was sober when she called set off all kinds of alarm bells in his head.

  "You're not going to change my mind about this, Paul, so don't waste your breath."

  Jenna was way too thin. And the weight loss wasn't even the worst. The cornered animal look was in her eyes again and that always signaled that she was in deep trouble emotionally. How had he let this much time pass without demanding to see her?

  "I swear I'm not here to make you do anything you don't want to do, Jen." He held up his hands in surrender, prayed she would believe him. It was true. He wanted to help her. Somehow he had to make her see that their baby was gone. There was no happy reunion in their future. She needed to face that fact so she could start living her life again. "Deidra said you were on to something. I just want to help." He lowered his hands back to his sides. "I can't do that if you don't tell me what's going on."

  When she didn't immediately balk, he gestured to the threadbare sofa. "I'll just sit right here and listen." He eased down onto the sofa and settled onto a lumpy cushion. It killed him to see her living like this. He'd given her the house in L.A. and a generous monthly allowance way before the subject of alimony had been broached. She was his wife, divorce or no. He would take care of anything she needed. All she had to do was let him.