by Paula Graves
She’d picked out her clothing with care, settling on a pair of slim-fitting olive-green wool pants and a figure-hugging sage cashmere sweater. By the time she’d chosen just the right suede sling-back pumps to complete the look, she’d started thinking of the outfit as her coat of armor. Because once she picked up a rental car, she was on her way to McBride’s office to slay a dragon.
Today, she was going to ask him about Clare. And she wasn’t going to leave his office until he told her.
She picked another Buick, similar to her totaled car, needing that sense of familiarity. She gave in to Agent Logan’s demand that he follow her to the police station, but shooed him away when he tried to stay until she’d finished her business inside.
“Lieutenant McBride will see me home,” she promised. Logan looked reluctant, but did as she asked.
She was halfway up the stairs to McBride’s office when her cell phone rang. Torn between impatience to get the coming confrontation over with and relief to have the inevitable fireworks postponed, Lily hesitated only a moment before answering.
It was Andrew Walters. “Lily, thank God you’re all right! Lieutenant McBride told me what happened to you.”
“I’m fine,” she assured him.
“I think you should do what the man said. I don’t want to be responsible for something bad happening to you.”
Lily frowned. “You don’t want me to help you anymore?”
“You could have been killed.” Andrew’s voice was a curious mixture of anxiety and persuasiveness.
No wonder he’s a politician, she thought.
“The police haven’t had any luck finding anyone with the names you gave them, and the scenes you’ve described from your visions are too vague to help them pinpoint her location.”
She tried not to take his words as a rebuke of her abilities. She knew what she was seeing was real. In time, she’d come up with the clue to help them find Abby.
If they had time.
Andrew’s voice grew gentle. “I don’t want you hurt.”
There was nothing threatening in the tone of Andrew’s voice. But the hair on the back of her neck rose, anyway.
“I’ll think about it,” she agreed.
“Good.” He rang off quickly, as if he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do. She hung up the phone more slowly, considering Andrew’s request.
Could she turn her back on Abby just because things were getting a little dangerous for Lily herself?
MCBRIDE STARED AT Delaine Howard, fighting the urge to run. He’d never expected to see her again. God knew he didn’t want to, especially on a day like today. But Delaine had always seemed to know when he was at his weakest.
He looked around the office to see if any other cops were there to run interference. But the rest of the day shift appeared to be out on calls. He closed the distance between them, noting with dark satisfaction the anxiety in her eyes. “What do you want?”
“I’m here about the kidnapping.”
McBride thought the acid in his stomach was finally going to burn a hole all the way through. He moved past her and entered his office, grabbing the bottle of antacids from his desk. He crunched a couple between his teeth. “I suppose you’ve had a vision?”
“No.” She paused in the doorway to his office. “I know you could never trust my visions again. Not after—”
“Cut the crap, Delaine. What do you want?”
She licked her lips and crossed to stand in front of his desk. “The woman on the news—Lily Browning—you have to listen to her. She can help you find that little girl. She has a powerful gift.”
His gut rebelled. “I don’t work with psychics.”
Delaine frowned. “But the news said—”
“It’s Andrew Walters’s idea. He’s a father whose little girl is missing.” McBride impaled her with his hard glare. “People believe all kinds of crazy things when they’re desperate.”
A tear slid down her cheek. “I thought Clare would be where I told you.”
“But she wasn’t, was she?” McBride rose to his feet, bitter rage surging. “She wasn’t anywhere you told us we could find her. Do you have any idea what you did to us? Laura’s dead because of you! I might as well be. And you did that, Delaine. You kept our hopes alive until they destroyed us.” His voice rang through the office, dying away into silence.
Then he realized he and Delaine were no longer alone.
Lily stood in the doorway, gazing at him with stricken eyes. “Clare was your daughter.”
The sympathy in her voice was too much for him to bear. He backed away from her and held up his hands. “Don’t.”
Delaine caught Lily’s arm. “Give him a minute.”
Lily jerked her arm away. “Don’t tell me what to do.” She turned to McBride. “I’m not her. I didn’t do this to you.”
McBride looked at Delaine. “You need to go now.”
Tears filled Delaine’s eyes. “I am sorry, McBride. You have to know that I never meant for things to go so wrong—” Her voice broke on a sob and she hurried out of the office.
McBride dropped heavily into his chair, trying to control his emotions before he did something rash. He looked at Lily. “You should go, too.”
“No.”
The look of understanding in her eyes nearly made him come undone. He balled his fists at his sides, afraid of losing himself completely to the blackness inside him if she stayed much longer. “You can’t lead me to Abby Walters. I don’t believe you. I never will. And no matter what you say, I don’t think you can live with that in the long run.”
She closed her eyes, pain drawing lines in her forehead.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, shaking her head.
He lurched from his desk and grabbed her arms. “Look at me, damn it!”
Her eyes flew open, wide and afraid.
“This is what happens if you’re wrong. This is what Andrew Walters will become when he finally learns the truth about Abby.” McBride gave her a hard shake and let her go.
She backed away, eyes shiny with tears. “Andrew wants me off the case.”
A sliver of surprise worked its way into the darkness inside him. He’d thought that Walters would cling to false hope to the bitter end. “Good. Then it’s settled.”
“I can’t back away from this.”
“That’s your problem.” Anger receded, sucking him back into an icy black abyss. He sank onto the edge of his desk. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s over. I’m through.”
She stared at him, dumbfounded.
“Go home, Lily.”
“McBride, you can’t just—”
He cut her off. “I’m done.”
Her unflinching gaze held his for a long, painful moment. Then, suddenly, she looked away. Her lips began to tremble. She turned and hurried out the door.
He groped for his chair and sat, burying his head in his hands, giving in to the shakes he’d held off ever since Lily had walked through the door and into the middle of his nightmare.
He needed a drink. One shot of Jack Daniels after another, burning a path down his gullet until he forgot about the big, black hole in his heart.
He dragged himself to his feet and grabbed his coat. It was time to reacquaint himself with an old, reliable friend.
HER HEAD POUNDING with the force of another vision, Lily struggled to reach her vehicle. The last thing she wanted to do when McBride was in this state was go into a trance in the middle of his office.
Racing down the front steps of the police station, she managed to slide behind the wheel of her rental car before the vision sucked her through the door in her mind, into the mists. She didn’t fight it, letting the flow of the vision soothe away the burgeoning ache in her head.
She emerged into an old-fashioned parlor sheltered from the midday sun by juniper bushes growing outside. A woman sat in a rocking chair near the hearth, holding out her hands as if warming them in fr
ont of a fire. But no fire was lit.
“You came.” Hearing the small voice, Lily turned around to find Casey in the doorway, a smile carving dimples in her cheeks. “I called,” the dark-haired girl said. “Did you hear me?”
“Is this where you live?”
The child nodded, her smile fading. “That’s Mama.” She gestured toward the woman. “She’s in one of her moods.”
Lily moved closer to the figure in the rocking chair. She was a thin, pale woman about ten years older than Lily. She looked as though she’d been pretty once, but illness had slackened her jaw and glazed her blue eyes.
“I had another mama, but she died. My daddy couldn’t take care of me, so I came to live with her.” Casey knelt in front of the woman, pressing her cheek against her knee. “She didn’t used to be so sad.” Casey stroked her outstretched arm, but the woman didn’t react.
Chills raced down Lily’s spine. Was Casey even there? Or was she a ghost, the remnant of a child long dead? Had the woman gone crazy from grief? Was she paying no attention to Casey because Casey wasn’t really there?
“I’m not a ghost,” Casey said. “You have to be dead to be a ghost, and I’m not dead.” She turned her head and looked at Lily, the directness of her gaze unnerving. “Are you dead?”
“No.”
Casey smiled. “It would be okay if you were. I like you anyway. You’re not scary.”
Lily touched the girl’s cheek, wondering if Casey would be able to feel it. The child rubbed her cheek against Lily’s palm, her little-girl flesh soft and warm. Lily caressed the solemn, heart-shaped face.
“Will you come play with me?” Casey took her hand. Lily squeezed the small fingers, marveling at how real they felt.
Casey led her down a narrow hall to a tiny room decorated in fading pink and white. “This is my room,” she said proudly.
Lily looked around the tiny, cluttered space, her heart aching. It was grimy, despite obvious attempts by someone to keep it tidy. How long had this child lived with her mother’s madness, trying to carve out some semblance of a normal life?
Lily sat on the bed by Casey, who picked up a book from a rickety bedside table. “My favorite book,” she said.
Lily recognized the bright cover; she’d been reading the same book to her class for the past couple of weeks. “Boots and Belinda,” she murmured. “It’s one of my favorite books, too.”
She settled on the side of the bed and listened, her heart aching, as Casey carefully read the first chapter aloud. She read well, under the circumstances, though she mispronounced some of the more unfamiliar words. Lily wondered how she’d ever learned to read at all. Did she even attend school?
How could the world be full of so many lost little girls like Casey and Abby? Like McBride’s Clare?
The vision seemed to last forever, through two more chapters of the book, through the lengthening of shadows in Casey’s tiny bedroom. Just as Lily realized how long she’d been there, the door in her mind opened, beckoning her back to reality.
“You have to go.” Casey put down her book and picked up her tattered stuffed frog. “It’s okay. My daddy gave me Mr. Green to watch after me.”
“I’ll try to come back,” Lily promised.
The sun-warmed vinyl seat of the rental car replaced the dank mists swirling around her. She opened her eyes to bright sunlight, her heart pounding against her rib cage. The dashboard clock read four-fifteen. Two hours had passed, just as they had in her vision.
Lily pressed her face into her hands, trying to reorient herself in a world that seemed surreal after the sweet cocoon of time she’d just spent with the sad-eyed little girl who called herself Casey. Who was this child? Why did she have such a strong connection with Lily, strong enough to draw her to a misty netherworld and keep her there for almost two hours when most of Lily’s visions lasted no more than five or ten minutes?
She had to find out who Casey was, try to make sense of her part in what was happening to Abby Walters.
But first she had to deal with McBride.
MCBRIDE LEANED OVER his kitchen table, his hand barely touching the smooth side of the unopened bottle of Jack Daniels. He couldn’t remember buying it, couldn’t even remember how or when he’d arrived at his house.
All he could remember was how hot and strong the whiskey had always felt as it washed down his throat and filled his stomach, numbing the pain, if only for a while.
He flipped another page of the photo album lying in front of him. He didn’t remember bringing it out, either. He hadn’t looked at it in a long time. He didn’t know why he was doing so now. Every photograph was a fresh stab in the heart.
Clare at birth, tiny, red and wrinkled. Laura holding Clare, joy lighting her face from the inside. Clare’s first birthday, when she’d put out the candle with her hand…
McBride shoved the album away and clutched the bottle of whiskey between his palms, rubbing the smooth glass surface to warm the golden liquid inside. Four years of sobriety were about to head out the window. He needed numbness so badly he thought he might die if he didn’t take one drink.
He wanted it almost as much as he wanted Lily.
He’d thought that once he ended it, he could just walk away. But she was like a splinter, driving deeper the more he tried to extract her. He bled inside from wanting her.
Like the alcohol, she promised heat and release. Relief from pain, at least for a while. He could almost taste her on his tongue, feel her slick heat welcome him deep inside her.
He could pour the Jack Daniels down the sink and the craving would eventually leave him alone, at least for a while. But even though he’d chased Lily away, he couldn’t escape her. And that scared the hell out of him.
The front doorbell rang. He ignored it and tore the paper seal around the neck of the bottle.
The bell rang again, long and persistent.
“Go away!” he yelled.
The person at the door started banging. Hard. Relentlessly.
Anger poured through McBride, the first thing he’d felt besides grief in hours. He liked the feeling. He lunged to his feet, slamming the bottle of whiskey down on the kitchen counter on his way to the living room. He threw the dead bolt latch and jerked open the door, ready for a fight.
The sight of Lily hit him like cold water in the face. He staggered back from the door.
She took a step toward him, her expression wary. “You don’t get to end this by yourself.”
He took another step back. “Go away.”
“No.” She crossed to him and took his hands. Hers were soft and warm, her touch sending sensations coursing through him like a powerful drug.
He stiffened, resisting. “No.”
She lifted one hand to his face. Something inside him cracked and spilled out, spreading warmth through his chest. In the face of her tender persistence, his resolve began to crumble. When she slipped her arms around him, he leaned heavily against her and let her lead him to the sofa.
She stroked and soothed him, cradling his face between her palms. She drew his head down and kissed him, her lips warm and incredibly soft. The coldness inside him began to recede, coiling back into its hidden lair. She deepened their kiss, touching her tongue to his. He opened his mouth to her gentle invasion, gave in to the electric sensations sparking in his belly and loins.
Lily curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and murmured his name. He covered her mouth with his, swallowing the word. Desire scorched through him as he drew her to her feet, pulling her with him toward his bedroom.
They didn’t make it out of the living room.
Chapter Thirteen
McBride pressed Lily against the living room wall and ran his hands down her thighs, drawing them apart to cradle the hardening ridge of his erection. Heat pooled in her center as he rolled his hips, baring his teeth in primitive satisfaction when she gasped at the electric sensation.
He rocked against her, the friction shooting sparks along her spine. Unbea
rable anticipation built inside her.
Tightening his grip on her with one hand, he tugged open the zipper of her pants, then pushed both jeans and panties over her hips to bare her flesh to him.
She needed more. Now.
He tangled his hand in the curls between her thighs, his fingers teasing the sensitive flesh until she shook with need. Kicking away the clothes tangled around her feet, she opened herself to his touch. He knew how and where to stroke her, when to tease and when to torture. When he slid two fingers inside her, she clutched his shoulders and growled his name.
He silenced her with another hard kiss, unzipping his own pants. Savage need coiled inside her as he grasped her hips and held her steady. His gaze locked with hers, his eyes black with passion. Her breath caught in her throat. Then he rose between her thighs and drove into her in one long, hard thrust. She dug her fingernails into his back, gasping at the sudden fullness.
He went still, searching her face. “Lily…”
She kissed away the uncertainty her soft cry had elicited. “Please,” she whispered, sliding her hands over his shoulders and down his back. She pressed her palms against his buttocks and pulled him deeper into her. A low groan of pleasure rumbled up her throat.
He stroked her breasts lightly through her blouse, his thumb teasing her nipples to aching peaks. She arched against him, felt him stir deep inside her. Her belly quivered and softened as he began to move within her.
He unbuttoned her blouse, unsnapped her bra and pushed both garments aside, covering her bare breasts with his palms. As he stroked her, gentled her with his caresses, she relaxed, accepting more of him with each thrust.
A delicious tension began to build in her core. She found his rhythm and rocked with him, stoking the fire spreading through her belly.
He pulled her thighs up, lifting her feet off the floor. She held on to him tightly, wrapping her legs around his waist as he pinned her against the wall. He soon lost control, his thrusts hard and frantic, and she realized he was going to finish well ahead of her.