Before she could rise to greet the officers who climbed out of the patrol car, Adam hurried to meet them. She saw him pointing to something in the grass and she raced toward them.
When she saw what Adam had pointed at, a cry tore from her throat as agony ripped through her. Before anyone could stop her, she reached down and grabbed the plastic charm. The chain was still on it, broken in half as if yanked off forcefully.
She was a cop and the implication of the broken chain along with where it had been found wasn't lost on her. Maggie wasn't just missing. She wasn't going to be found in the neighborhood. Somebody had taken her against her will and put her in a car and driven off.
"Don't jump to conclusions," Ben Larsen, one of the responding officers, said as if he could read her mind. "We don't know how that necklace got there." He held out his hand for the necklace.
Breanna dropped it in his palm, although her instinct was to hold tight to it … and keep holding it until Maggie was back safe and sound in her arms.
She didn't realize she was crying until she tasted the salt of tears in her mouth, then she quickly swiped her tears. Now was not the time to cry. They had to find Maggie.
Adam placed an arm around her. She wanted to lean in to him, to give way to the sheer terror that gripped her heart. But she couldn't. Not now.
"I'll call for a couple more cars," Ben said. "We'll start canvassing the neighborhood. Breanna, what was your daughter wearing when you last saw her?"
Wearing? As a cop, she knew how important it was that all the officers get an accurate description of Maggie, but for a moment her mind faltered as she tried to think of what Maggie had put on that morning.
Had she worn her pink shorts set, or a pair of jeans and a T-shirt? Why, oh why hadn't she paid more attention? Pink, she remembered now. Maggie had spilled some syrup on her shirt and Breanna had washed it off.
"Pink shorts and a pink flowered short-sleeved blouse," she said.
Ben nodded and got on his radio. Fred Macon, his partner eyed Breanna sympathetically. "We'll find her, Bree," he said. His gaze turned apologetic as he drew a pad and pen from his pocket. "You know there's certain questions I need to ask you. But first," he looked at Adam, "could I get your name, sir?"
"He's Adam Spencer. He lives next door." Breanna gestured toward the cottage.
"Could I speak with you, Mr. Spencer, alone?" Fred asked.
"Okay," Adam agreed.
"That isn't necessary, Fred," Breanna said impatiently. "He had nothing to do with Maggie's disappearance. I don't beat my child so he wouldn't have seen anything or heard anything that might lead you to believe I harmed my child. Maggie doesn't run away and Adam isn't the neighborhood pedophile." The words tumbled from her in frustration.
She knew the game, but they didn't have time to play this one by the book, knew that precious minutes were slipping away with unnecessary questions.
Before Fred could reply, another patrol car squealed to a halt before the house and Savannah got out of the driver's side. The sight of her sister set off her tears again and she ran to Savannah with arms outstretched. A million times in the past the two sisters had found solace in each other's arms.
It had been Savannah who had been at her side when she'd given birth to Maggie, Savannah who had bought the child her first teddy bear, the favorite stuffed animal, Mr. Bear.
But Savannah's arms held no comfort this time. Just as Breanna knew the night Savannah's husband had died, Breanna's hug had done nothing to ease Savannah's heartbreak.
Savannah hugged her tight for a long moment, then released her and held her at arm's length. "Tell me what's going on," she said, her lovely features taut with strain.
Quickly Breanna filled her in, the darkness in Savannah's eyes mirroring the darkness in Breanna's heart. "Then let's get busy and find her," Savannah said.
Within minutes two more patrol cars had arrived and officers were out canvassing the neighborhood, talking to people, trying to learn if anyone had seen little Maggie.
Glen Cleberg, chief of police, arrived and led Breanna and Adam into her living room where he made her recount the morning activities yet another time.
"Glen, for God's sake. We've got to do something," she exclaimed, knowing that if somebody had abducted Maggie, the first couple of hours were critical. Already the officers had grilled her on Maggie's friends and acquaintances and asked about Kurt.
"We're doing everything we can," he replied. "What I need from you now is a recent photo of Maggie. We'll put an amber alert into motion immediately. We'll have the whole city looking for her."
His words should have brought her some sort of comfort, but Breanna was beyond comfort. She felt curiously numb, but knew that when the numbness wore off she would fall into an abyss of darkness and terror that would consume her. The terror already whispered to her, beckoning her to fall into its icy grip, but she fought against it.
She got her purse and pulled out her wallet. Inside was an identification card with a photo of Maggie. She held it for a moment, staring down at the beloved. face of her daughter until her vision blurred with tears.
In the photo Maggie was wearing a T-shirt with a happy face on the front. Her smile was full, her soft gray eyes twinkling with good humor.
Breanna remembered the day they had gotten the identification card done. An organization devoted to child safety had set up in a chain discount store and Maggie, who loved to have her photo taken, had been delighted to go through the process. They'd been shopping for a night-light that day for her room.
"Bree." Adam's voice was a soft intrusion into her memory. She looked up to see him watching her, his eyes filled with worry. Gently, he took the card from her and handed it to Glen.
"I'll see that copies of this are dispersed to the press," Glen said. "In the meantime, you stay here next to the phone. I'm having Brutmeyer hook up a recording device so if a ransom call comes in we'll be able to tape it."
A ransom. The word shot a gripping fear through Breanna. A ransom couldn't be made unless somebody had been kidnapped. Oh God, please don't let Maggie be kidnapped, she prayed.
"It's just a precaution," Glen said. "Of course, we're hoping she'll turn up safe and sound someplace in the neighborhood. Why don't you put on some coffee for the officers who are going to be here until we find her," he suggested.
She knew all about making coffee. It was what was suggested to the members of every victim's family during an investigation, an action that would keep them busy and out of the investigators' hair. She'd make coffee, but there was no way she was going to stay out of anyone's hair. She didn't intend to stand around and serve the officers as they drifted in and out of her kitchen.
She wasn't simply a citizen, a victim of crime. She was a cop and her daughter was missing and she intended to do what she did best … be a cop.
As the coffee brewed, Adam hovered nearby, as if at any moment he expected her to collapse. "I'm not going to pull my hair out or faint from stress," she exclaimed to him.
"I know that."
"Well, you're hovering," she said with a touch of irritation. Then she looked … really looked at his face. His features were drawn with worry and his eyes radiated a whisper of fear. It hit her hard, in the center of her heart. He cared about Maggie.
"I'm sorry," he said, averting his gaze from hers. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just … I just feel so damned useless." His sharp voice spoke of frustration.
She walked over and stood mere inches in front of him. She placed her hands on either side of his face, feeling the faint burr of whiskers on his jaw. "You love her, too, don't you Adam? It's impossible to know Maggie and not love her."
His gaze met hers again and in the dark blue depths of his eyes she saw the answer to her question. "Yes, I love her." The words sounded as if they were ripped reluctantly from someplace deep inside him.
She leaned into him then and allowed herself the weakness of weeping against his chest. He held on to her as if th
ey were both standing on the edge of a dangerous precipice and he was the anchor keeping them safe.
"Breanna?"
Reluctantly she left Adam's arms and swiped at her hot tears as Ben Larsen stepped into the kitchen. "Any news?" she asked hopefully. The young officer's expression answered her question.
"Your parents are outside and Clay has arrived."
Together Adam and Breanna followed Ben to the front porch. Breanna watched her brother taping off the entire front yard with bright yellow tape. The sight of the familiar crime scene tape sent a frigid chill up her spine.
Her parents and Alyssa stood in the driveway, each of their faces reflecting the horror that Breanna felt. She walked over to fill them in on what was going on.
Thomas placed an arm around Rita's shoulder as silent tears oozed from her eyes. Through the veil of tears, a steely strength shone through. "You tell us what to do and we'll do it."
"Maybe you could go inside and see that the men who are helping have something to eat and coffee to drink," Breanna suggested.
Rita nodded, then reached out and hugged Breanna tightly. "We'll find our little doe."
As her parents went into the house, Breanna turned to Alyssa, whose face radiated a tortured pain. "Oh, Bree. I'm so sorry. I wish I'd known more … could have warned you … I knew something bad was coming … but I never dreamed it would be Maggie."
"Shhh." Breanna stilled her by pulling her into a hug. "Nothing bad is going to happen. We're going to find Maggie safe and sound." She said the words fervently, desperately wanting to believe them.
"If only I'd seen something that might help." This was the torture of the visions Alyssa suffered and Breanna knew what her cousin was feeling, that somehow she should be able to help, that the damned visions should come when they were most needed.
"Alyssa, if I even think that you're feeling guilty, it will only makes things worse. Now, go help Mom and Dad in the kitchen." She squeezed her cousin's hand and forced a smile. "It's going to be all right … truly."
"Keep those people off the lawn." Clay's stern voice rang in the air as he pointed to a couple of neighbors who were obviously curious about the commotion. Two uniformed cops hurried to comply with his order.
"He doesn't want the scene contaminated," she said to Adam who had suddenly appeared at her side. "Now his team will search by grids, looking for anything that might be a clue. It might he a footprint … or a discarded piece of chewing gum. He'll take her blanket and all the items she was playing with to the lab and check them for hairs and fibers, for a trace of anything somebody might have left behind."
She knew she was rambling and her gaze lingered on the pink blanket on the grass. Maggie … her heart cried out. Maggie, where are you? Hang on, baby. Please hang on because I can't imagine my life without you in it.
"Breanna." Adam's sharp voice pulled her from the edge of madness. She looked at him blankly. "There's nothing you can do out here. Let's go back inside and let Clay and his people do their jobs. They want you in there to answer the phone. People have started calling and you need to keep the line clear."
The numbness was wearing off. She looked at her clock, shocked to see that it was almost two in the afternoon. Maggie had been missing for at least three hours. Three hours. Her mind screamed in protest.
She allowed Adam to lead her into the house and to the sofa. Somebody had turned on the television and she sat down next to the phone that now had a recording device on it. The technician explained to her which button to push before she answered, then left her and Adam alone.
When the phone rang it jangled every nerve in her body, but it was just a neighbor wondering what was going on. The next five phone calls were all the same, concerned friends and acquaintances wondering what was happening. Breanna got them off the line as quickly as possible.
It wasn't until she saw the amber alert on the television screen that the stark reality struck and the last of her numbness shot away. The amber alert was an immediate official response when a child went missing.
Maggie's picture was in a small box at the bottom of the screen, following by a trailer that gave her name and age and what she was wearing. Breanna read it as Adam grabbed her hand tightly. "Last seen playing in her front yard," the trailer read.
"Last seen." Breanna spoke the words aloud. "Those are words a parent should never have to see or hear about their child. Last seen." She covered her face with her hands and wept, no longer feeling like a cop, but rather simply a mother in the worst kind of pain imaginable.
Adam held her as she wept tears of fright, tears of uncertainty. Her arms ached with the need to hold Maggie. She needed to smell the scent of her baby girl, feel her wiggly warmth in her arms. She needed to hear Maggie's laughter filling a room, see those beautiful baby eyes that always held a magical sparkle.
The phone rang yet again and she jerked away from Adam's embrace. She punched the button to begin the recorder, then picked up the phone and breathed an exhausted hello.
The music started immediately, the woman singing the familiar lullaby. Breanna's gaze shot to Adam's, panicked. He quickly motioned to one of the officers as Breanna placed the call on speakerphone.
The lullaby filled the living room, the woman's voice sweet and soft. When the music stopped, there was a pregnant silence. "Hello? Who's there?" Breanna asked, wishing she could crawl through the line and discover who was on the other end.
"Now we're even," a male voice said. Deep, dark laughter filled the line, then silence.
* * *
Chapter 14
«^»
"The call came from 555-2314," the technician said as he punched things into a laptop computer.
"Come on, Tom. Where's the phone," Cleberg asked.
"Wait … I got it … Tenth and Main. It's a pay phone."
Before the words were out of his mouth, Breanna was out the door. She surprised Adam by running toward his place, then he realized what she was doing. Her car was blocked in by other cars. His was not.
"Breanna," Cleberg shouted after them. "Officer James! You are not working this case as a cop. Get back here."
She ignored him and instead got into the driver seat of his car. "Give me your keys," she said, her eyes wild with urgency.
"I'm not letting you drive anywhere," he protested. "You want to get to that phone, you let me drive." She sighed in frustration, but moved over to the passenger side. He slid in and pulled out of his driveway with a squeal of his tires and pointed the car in the direction of Main Street
.
He looked in his rearview mirror and saw two patrol cars behind him, their lights flashing and sirens wailing. "Ignore them," she said tersely.
"You really don't think anyone is going to be at that phone, do you?" he asked. She didn't reply and he realized then that her hope was irrational, the hope of a mother clinging to straws.
Adam stepped on the gas, driven by his own irrational hope that maybe the bastard who took Maggie had stopped to make the call and his car had broken down, or he'd parked illegally and somebody was towing the car away, Maggie sleeping comfortably in the backseat.
Funny, how love could mess with your mind. Love. Despite his desire never to love a child who could break his heart, somehow Maggie had managed to crawl beneath the defenses he'd tried to erect. He loved her, and with every minute that passed his heart was breaking in a way he hadn't thought possible. He couldn't imagine the pain Breanna must be feeling.
She pointed just ahead of him. "There."
The phone booth was an old-fashioned kind that was rarely seen anymore. Adam squealed to a halt in front of it as Breanna jumped out of the passenger side and looked around, her gaze sweeping from side to side as she checked out the area. "Don't touch the phone," she instructed Adam, although he had no intention of doing so.
The other officers surrounded the phone booth with the intention of keeping out everyone. Adam figured eventually one of the crime scene people would be out here to check fo
r evidence … something … anything the perpetrator might have left behind.
"I knew there wouldn't be anything here," she said bitterly. "But I couldn't take just sitting in that house another minute."
He understood her need to do something, but what could they do? They had nothing but a disembodied voice on the phone to go on.
"Breanna, the officers will keep an eye on things here. We really need to go back to the house," he said.
She nodded, her shoulders slumping forward. Without any argument, she got back into his car. They drove in silence and Adam tried to think of something … anything to say that might help. But he recognized that words held no power to soothe in a situation like this.
She'd already amazed him with her strength. The tears she'd shed had been brief and instead what he felt now from her was a restless energy to do something … anything to help.
When they returned to the house, Clay was gone, along with the blanket and the items that had been on the front lawn. The other two crime scene investigators who worked with Clay were still combing the front yard, looking for clues.
"Dammit, Breanna," Glen Cleberg met them at the front door. "I know how you feel, but you can't go off all half-cocked like that."
"You don't know how I feel," she replied. "Somebody has taken my daughter and I'm not about to sit here twiddling my thumbs. I'm a cop, Glen, and if you keep me out of the loop I'll go crazy. And now I'm going upstairs." She shot Adam a pointed look. "I'd like a few minutes alone."
Without waiting for a reply, she climbed the staircase and disappeared into her bedroom.
Glen Cleberg looked at Adam and shook his head. "This entire investigation has been taken over by the James family and by rights none of them should be working the case. But they're stubborn, and all three of them are the best I've got on the force." He rubbed a hand over his meaty jaw. "I never thought I'd see the day that children couldn't play in their own front yards here in Cherokee Corners."
"It only takes one bad person in a town to make everyone afraid," Adam replied, his gaze going up the staircase, his thoughts on Breanna. What must be going through her mind? How much uncertainty could one mother stand?
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